The Undisclosed
by Taila-Tai
Summary: For once the pack doesn't panic when a new hunter arrives. The gleefully sadistic man has labelled himself a collector of all things rare in the supernatural world and wants one of the rarest creatures; a werefox. Content that the pack is safe, the wolves focus on why their human member is acting strange, ignoring the fact that Stiles only started once learning who the man wanted
1. Omegas Man

Omegas

The Bitches

Now whether the supernatural world meant that in a derogative manner, or if they were trying to warn everyone that the wolves were basically teenager girls – fully equipped with fur and teeth – Stiles wasn't sure. Hell, he half expected that the next time they ran into their latest problem, she would inform him that his shoes didn't match his pants or that the messy hair style really wasn't in anymore.

Of course, if Stiles was being completely honest with himself, the look really _wasn't_.

"Stiles, you are aware of what the words; _treading lightly_ entail, correct?" Derek growled lowly, red eyes peeking over a broad shoulder.

Shrugging, Stiles purposefully stepped on a twig, smiling when the _crack_ echoed. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of your male pride," he snipped, gesturing vaguely at the topless man as he pushed his thoughts to the side. "I mean come on, I was in bed – asleep – when you called and I still managed to show up fully clothed. How is it that you couldn't find the time to slip on a shirt?"

Derek cocked a brow, his stride slowing and allowing the boy to catch up. "Stiles, you're wearing Batman pyjamas," he pointed out, snorting under his breath.

"And you're not wearing a shirt," Stiles retorted. "They're still _pants,_ sourwolf. Batman or not"

Grunting, Derek began to move forward again, tearing his eyes away from the teenager. "I'd rather be wearing nothing at all then whatever the hell you call those things," he muttered, ears twitching as he listened to their surroundings.

"How is it that you've managed to steer the conversation from your lack of a shirt, to my lack of a fashion sense?" Stiles questioned before faltering, a quizzical expression tightening his lips. "Well, not _lack_ of a fashion sense per say, I at least have more than one shirt and a single pair of dark jeans."

Slowly turning, Derek lifted both brows, looking down at the plain sweats he wore. Stiles followed his gaze, his own eyes falling onto the material before he scoffed, throwing both his hands into the air for emphasis. "Oh, sorry, you have a pair of sweatpants," Stiles rolled his eyes before smiling. "So is that why you're not wearing a shirt? Let me guess, your _only_ Henley didn't match your sweats?"

Derek gnashed his teeth, eyes flashing. " _Stiles,_ " he warned, stalking forward. The frustration from not only failing to hunt down the rogue werewolf, but also from losing the argument with the over active child was leaking through, his features shifting wolfishly. "Shut up, or I'll make you shut up."

Stiles held up his hands. "Yeesh, fine, sorry. You do know we're here looking for an omega, not your lost pride, right?" he grumbled, shoving both his hands into his jacket pockets. "Just admit that the Henley doesn't match; no need to get all eyebrowsy over it."

Derek stopped again, ready to growl out an answer when a lone howl echoed through the dark woods. Both men stopped, their mouths open in confusion and eyes locked before they jumped into action; darting through the trees and dodging stray branches. Admittedly, Derek reached the location first, his eyes widening as the teenager stumbled through the tree behind him.

Stiles blanched at the sight, realising why the alpha had frozen. The omega was here alright and currently locked in a fierce battle with Scott, both snapping and clawing at each other like there was no tomorrow. Isaac stood off to the side, slumped against a tree and cradling his shoulder while he watched the fight fearfully. His wolfed out features and expression revealed that it he was the one who had called for help, no doubt shocked that the single wolf had managed to cause so much trouble.

Golden pools of fear locked onto the pair, widening. "Derek?" Isaac called, his good hand reaching out for them. "Help?"

The plea damn near broke Stiles heart, and judging by the growl building in the alpha's chest; it hurt Derek as well. Stalking forward, Derek snarled at the one person who had dared to touch his pack, his eyes bleeding red.

"Scott, help Isaac and make sure the others are coming," he demanded in a low voice, his careful steps precise and practised.

The beta in question turned at the voice, eyes widening in shock and relief at the sight. "Der—" his exclamation was cut short by a swift punch to his stomach. The omega had taken advantage of the brief distraction, lashing out with a smooth hit that sent Scott flying across the clearing.

With a roar Derek leaped forward, ready to maim and kill while Stiles scrambled across the clearing towards his fallen friend, ready to coddle and heal. "Scott? Shit, dude, are you okay?" he stammered, his hands hovering over his friend's body.

Scott grunted, coughing up some blood. "Ugh, hell no," he grumbled, wincing as red dribbled down his cheek. "But I will be in about five minutes," he added, dropping his head back against the ground.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles turned, studying the fight happening behind him. Derek was easily gaining the upper hand, sheer strength and force of will managing to outweigh the speed the female wolf possessed. With a determined nod, Stiles shot across the cleaning, intent on the other fallen pup.

"Isaac," Stiles soothed, smiling as one hand gingerly pressed against his shoulder. "You okay man?"

The wolf whimpered at the pressure. "It's dislocated – she threw me against a bloody tree," he gasped, groaning. "I need... to reset it before my body tries to heal it again."

" _Again?"_ Stiles questioned, one hand waving.

Ignoring the exclamation, Isaac bit his lip. "Can you..." he swallowed thickly.

"Me?" Stiles squeaked, gazing down at the awkwardly sitting limb. "Uh, well, you know..."

Thankfully, another voice cut into the conversation, saving the stammering teen from further embarrassment. "Move it Stilinski," Jackson growled, bumping the boy out of way. "Okay, take a deep breath Isaac; I'm pulling it back in three... two..."

Realising what was about to happen, Stiles blanched and backed away, feeling slightly queasy at the thought. Having no where else to fall, his attention landed on the fight happening only a few feet away from him, watching the dangerous dance with absent minded appreciation. It was clear who was going to come out as victor; while Derek wasn't uninjured – there was blood on his arm that indicated there had been a wound... once – he was in better shape than the omega he was battling who was currently limping and holding her skin together with her free hand.

Recognizing the victory, Stiles grinned, his fist pumping in the air as he shouted out. His celebration lasted only a few seconds before his smile slipped, face falling into a look of horror as he scrambled back. Derek's latest kick had managed to catch the omega in the stomach, stealing her breath and sending her across the clearing and away from the pack...

... And into Stiles.

"Oof!" Stiles crumpled under the weight, hitting the ground with a satisfying crunch. He felt his ribs creak under the pressure, rocks and sticks alike digging into the soft skin of his back. "Oh my god, get off!"

He pushed at the limp woman, forcing the disorientated body away from his own as he coughed up his lungs. Derek was behind the blonde before she could regain her breath, hands tightening around the tanned column of her neck. Stiles ignored her pathetic flailing, instead focusing on the pain in his back and chest as her fighting stopped, body falling limp.

Probing around his ribs, Stiles muttered under his breath, resisting the urge to cry out. His ribs were broken, that much was clear and the cuts on his back felt deep enough for at least a few to require stitches. It was hospital trip – and therefore a disaster – waiting to happen.

Stiles couldn't go to hospital.

"Jesus, Derek really? Can we do target practise another day?" he coughed, rubbing his chest as his bones knitted themselves back together. "And can Stiles _not_ be the target?"

Derek threw the body to the side, his lips curling in disgust. "You're hurt," he answered dryly, canines still sharp and his eyes flashing as he looked over to the fallen pack member.

Stiles stiffened, mentally begging his body to heal faster. "Uh, what? No, I'm not..." he chuckled nervously. "I'm a little winded sure, but not actually damaged or anything." He reached out wildly with one hand, leaning against the nearest tree for support as he pushed himself up. "Damn it all, she weighed more than I thought."

"I can smell blood," Derek grinded out, taking a step forward with the intention to help. "And you were thrown across the clearing, there's no use trying to hide it, Stiles."

Narrowing his eyes, Stiles took a step back, increasing the distance between the two. "Uh, you can probably smell the blood on yourself, or the blood slowly dripping from the non-healing omega at your feet..." he pointed out.

As if on cue, all eyes dropped to the lifeless body and the unseeing golden orbs still wide and frightened. "I don't smell my blood, or hers for that matter," Derek finally spoke. "I smell _yours_."

Stiles grunted, looking away from the burning red eyes. "I'm not bleeding alright?" he growled, wrapping his arms around himself protectively. "Give it a break, would you?"

 _Actually give it, like, two minutes because then I would have finished healing... Maybe three more for the ribs._

Derek growled, his brows furrowing. "If you're not bleeding..." he began dangerously. "Then why is the stench of your blood everywhere I turn?"

"Stench?" Stiles echoed, looking offended. "Well, that was rude."

" _Stiles!"_

The teenager in question jerked back in fright, whiskey eyes wide. "I-I'm fine alright?" he stammered, holding up both his hands. "Really, I'm fine, look." Turning around, Stiles lifted his jacket and plain shirt, revealing a smooth expanse of pale skin marred only by the occasional mole.

And smearing of blood.

"There's blood on your back," Derek pointed out, one hand reaching closer and pressing against a red smear. He pulled his arm back, ignoring the way the boy tensed at his touch before lifting his hand to his nose. "And it smells like you..."

Stiles chuckled, opening his mouth soundlessly. "Well, as you can see... Nothing," he argued weakly, dropping his shirt and rubbing the back of his neck.

Derek frowned but a small look from his pack members stopped him short. "Okay," he muttered slowly, allowing the matter to slide. "You boys better head home, Erica as well. I'll clean this up," he allowed, waving one hand in their direction. "I'll see you back home okay Isaac?"

The boy frowned before shaking his head. "No, I'll stay with you..."

Stiles smiled, clapping his hands together with a sudden movement. "Cool, so our adventure is over and I can finally go back to sleep and pretend that my life's normal!" he declared before waving his friend forward. "Come on Scott, I'm your ride remember genius?"

The wolf smiled, shooting forward to friend's side before wincing. "Yeah, cool, let's go dude."

Stiles winked at the remaining wolves, pushing his best friend through the trees before hurrying forward to help him when the male whimpered. "See you later losers!"

Derek watched the pair disappear through the trees, red eyes bleeding back to green as his body relaxed further. The teenage boy wasn't exactly normal, but his actions only minutes earlier had been suspicious, even for him.

Frowning, Derek looked down, clearing his throat and reaching for the body at his side. "So Issac, how's the shoulder?"

* * *

Wincing, Stiles watched his best friend shift awkwardly. "Dude, are you sure you're okay?" he questioned. "Is it really healed?"

Scott just waved off the concern, smiling instead. "Yeah, it's alright man; it just hurts a little you know? Like an ache. Anyway, it'll be fine by tomorrow morning," he admitted, finally slumping against the car seat. "What about you?"

Stiles blinked. "Me? What about me?" he asked dumbly, stopping the car at a red light.

"You're hurt, aren't you? I mean, you have to be..." Scott reminded the boy, cocking a brow in challenge. "No offence man, but we all know what you smell like and in turn know what your blood smells like..."

Exhaling harshly, Stiles made the car shoot forward. "I'm not hurt alright? You saw my back, it was completely _unharmed_."

"Blood doesn't just pop up out of no where," Scott chuckled. "And how do I know that it was your back that was injured? Yeah, sure, you landed on the ground and it's not like there was a complete lack of pointy sticks but for all I know you could have torn up your thigh – or your chest, you kept rubbing it."

Stiles spluttered, his mouth moving frantically. "Are you kidding me? I was winded! Do you know how much that woman weighed?"

Scott folded his arms. "Okay then if you weren't injured why could we smell blood?"

"Uh, because I'm bruising?" Stiles offered.

"Bruising?" Scott parroted, his brow drawn together. "Bruises have a smell?"

Stiles shook his head. "Bruises are blood underneath the skin, idiot," he scolded. "So, that's why you could smell blood."

Scott looked down in confusion. "We can smell blood when it's underneath the skin?" he questioned, poking at his own skin experimentally.

Stiles tuttered, hitting the steering wheel lightly. "I don't know, do I look like the resident expert on werewolves?" he demanded.

"Yes."

Glowering at his passenger, Stiles growled under his breath, pulling into a familiar driveway. "Look, I'm out of answers for you okay!" he argued, looking flustered. "Just get the hell out of my car and stop caring about me so much, it's giving me a chest ache."

Scott just smiled, laughing at his friends antics. "Yeah, yeah," he rolled his eyes. "Hey, you're still picking me up for school tomorrow right? You promised you'd give me a ride remember..."

Stiles nodded, remembering the promise easily. "Yeah, I'll be here around eight?" he guessed, shrugging a shoulder. "Now get out and don't slam the door behind you please and thank you."

Clambering out of the car, Scott busied himself with grabbing his backpack. "Cool, see you then, oh and..." he popped his head back into the car. "If your dad asks about where you've been just tell him mum needed a lift back from the hospital? I can tell her to cover for you."

"Thanks man," Stiles nodded. "But I don't plan on getting caught."

"Yeah well, what you've planned and what actually occurs are two very different things," Scott grinned, slamming the car door shut behind him.

"Hey!"

Scott bounded away from the car, hefting his bag over his shoulder and moving up towards the house. "Later dude," he called, chortling at the pissed off expression gracing the other boy's features.

Huffing, Stiles pulled away from the house, narrowing his eyes as his best friend disappeared through the front door. His beloved jeep was back on the road within seconds, the engine wheezing dangerously as Stiles fiddled with the radio, his lips pursed.

"Oh ick, Lady Gaga," he shuddered, quickly twirling the small dial again. His tongue crept out from the corner of his mouth, eyes flicking between the road and the radio before him. A familiar song came on and the boy grinned, relaxing back into his seat with a firm nod. "This I can listen too..."

His fingers absently tapped out a beat as he turned the final corner towards his home, eyes locking onto the police cruiser in the driveway with a small grunt.

Papa Stilinski was home.

Stiles sighed, pulling up beside the car and slumping into his seat as he stared down the vehicle. His father had been absent when he'd been called from the house in a hurry, and vaguely the teenager wondered if the older man had noticed the lack of a certain jeep through his state of exhaustion. Shrugging, the boy pulled his keys from the car, locking the older vehicle behind him.

"Oh wait, damn, I didn't even get to finish the song," Stiles realised, unlocking the front door warily, one hand raking through his hair. Out of habit, he locked it firmly behind him, taking a few cautious steps into the house. "Dad?"

Silence

 _Huh._

"Dad?" Stiles called again, wandering further into the house and looking around. He headed for the stairs, hands wringing nervously together before he caught the form on the couch. "Dad?" He moved forward, smiling weakly down at the snoring man. "How the hell can you sleep on that thing?" he muttered, glaring at the couch in question.

He didn't receive an answer; instead a small hum left the older man's throat as a blanket was draped over his body. Stiles pursed his lips, shrugging when the silence echoed around him. "Huh, well I think it's uncomfortable," he grumbled, patting his father's shoulder before backing away and cocking his head.

Stiles nodded in satisfaction at the sight, turning to head up the stairs and towards his room. The door was still slightly ajar from his sudden exit only hours before and he nudged it with his hip, yawning widely. "God, these late night excursions are losing their novelty," he muttered.

The lamp beside his bed cast shadows over his wall, causing the boy to jump when he saw movement. Growling under his breath at his own idiocy, Stiles wandered further into his room, shrugging his shirt off as he did so. A pale hand ran over the smooth skin of his back, checking for any blemishes before he turned, allowing him to check in the mirror.

The skin was smeared red in some places, showing where the wounds had originally been, but there were no marks otherwise. Not even a scar.

"Fuck, that was close," Stiles whispered, dropping himself onto the edge of his bed. His head was quickly cradled in his hands and absently he breathed deeply, checking for any twinges of pain from his ribs. Nothing came and he dropped back, arms spread out as he stared up at the ceiling with a pained expression.

He'd panicked tonight. When Derek had approached him, talking about his injuries, his heart had speed up and he knew the wolves had no doubt heard it. Whether they thought it was from exertion or fright, he didn't care, he only cared that they'd been too close. If Derek had forced him to turn around, or someone had pulled his shirt up and seen the healing wounds it would've been the end of it.

Months of hiding would've been lost.

Sitting up and throwing his shirt back on, Stiles moved to wiggle under the covers. His eyes slipped closed with a wince, his body still aching slightly as he slowly fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

 **I do not own Teen Wolf**

 **Hey guys, so I'm finally back to writing! Now, my poll had three options in the lead so I made a decision and chose this fandom because I love the story idea and you can't really stop me!**

 **Read and review, and I hope you like it!**

 **Taila xx**


	2. Pizza Delivery

Stiles woke with a world weary groan, his body screaming in protest as he shifted into awareness. His eyes opened with a groggy blink, the whiskey coloured pools hazy and blurred.

"Oh god, kill me now," he grumbled, rolling over with another whimper. His whole body ached, instincts telling him to stay in bed and away from anything that could prove a danger while he was weakened.

Facing the ceiling, he blinked lazily, his brow furrowing. He didn't think the effects would be so serious. Admittedly, he hadn't used his healing ability since his best friend became a werewolf, instead smothering the instinct whenever the need arose. He couldn't afford to be bleeding and broken one second and then whole the next. It would raise too many questions.

Like why he hadn't told them from the beginning.

Stiles sighed, chewing on his lower lip absently before forcing himself up. "Oh shit, ouch, yeah..."

If he wanted to point fingers, he would blame the omega woman. If she hadn't broken his ribs and made a blood quilt out of his back, he wouldn't have had to heal to avoid a trip to the hospital. He wouldn't be feeling like the latest chew toy for a certain sourwolf. Life wouldn't be _sucking_ some serious ass right now.

"Stiles? Son, what's with the bad language?" John poked his head through the half opened door, his brow furrowed in worry. "It's too early for this."

Stiles looked over at his father, smiling weakly. "It's never too early for good old curse words," he argued before grunting again. "Oh right, pain. Ow."

"Pain?" John echoed before sighing. "What did you manage to do _this_ time?"

The younger boy grinned sheepishly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and wincing all the while. "Uh, last night... Well, bad things happened," he admitted. "But you know, all is well, I'm in one piece..."

"Last night?" John frowned, leaning against the door frame. "I don't remember you popping out last night?" He took one look towards his sons face, studying the expression and guilt there. "You went out with the Hale boy again, didn't you?"

Stiles nibbled on his lower lip. "Heh, well when you put it like that... Yes."

"What was it this time?" John demanded, moving further into the room. "You said the wolves were good for you, Stiles, but instead you come home looking like shit."

Stiles looked affronted, folding his arms. "And the dad of the year award goes too..."

"The _honest_ dad of the year award," John corrected, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Son, I know you need the company of other supernatural creatures, I mean, your mother did as well. But, I feel like I need to have a talk with this pack of yours."

"No, no talks, they don't know about me remember?" Stiles waved his hands out in front of him, his mouth moving. "It was my own fault, I swear."

John appraised his son, leaning back with narrowed eyes.

"Aw, shit," Stiles ran a hand through his hair. "We're about to play good cop bad cop aren't we?" he muttered in dismay.

Shaking his head, John smiled. "Oh no, we're about to play bad cop, good-son-who-tells-me-what's-wrong."

"What?" Stiles groaned, pushing himself to his feet. "Oh that game's even worse, I'll have you know." He pointed a finger towards the older man's features, his own expression twisted into one of annoyance and exhaustion. "It's like... _so_ much worse."

John snorted. "Good thing I don't care," he muttered. "Now. Information."

Stiles slumped in defeat. "I'm meant to be the weak, unhealing human remember? Last night, we were hunting a rogue omega and it got me down. Broke a couple ribs, tore up my back, all the good stuff but it was bad enough that if the others saw it... I would've been sent to the hospital." He picked at his shirt, peeling back the dirtied material before looking up nervously. "I just haven't used any of my abilities in a while, guess I'm paying for it."

John sighed, rubbing his sons back with a tired smile. "You up for school? I can call Scott and get him to give you all the homework?"

Stiles smiled thankfully. "Thanks dad," he grinned, pulling the older man into a demanding hug. "You're the best."

"Yeah, yeah, you owe me something greasy for this."

* * *

After a few hours – and a much deserved nap – Stiles found himself pouring over his previously neglected school work. The biology text book in his hands wasn't going to read itself but after twenty minutes of staring at the same page, Stiles was starting to wish it would.

"Whoever invented biology is a blight on the galaxy," Stiles announced, throwing the book down and leaning back. His limbs and bones still ached but it manageable, the same burn he felt after sitting on the bench during training. The book collapsed onto the first page, revealing the black and white features of the author. "You sir! You are a blight."

Sometime during his stretching and cursing of a certain teacher, his phone had lit up, the device vibrating across the desk. "Oh shit," Stiles scrambled to grab the ringing device, thumbing through the phone lock.

He finally pressed the screen against his ear. "You're talking to Stiles."

" _Why weren't you at school today?"_

Stiles sighed, leaning back. "Hello to you too sourwolf," he droned, rolling his eyes. "I love talking with you as well, and yes I do think that jacket makes you look fat."

" _Stiles, I don't have time for – what the hell do you mean fat?"_ Derek demanded, his voice almost sounding scandalised.

Stiles chuckled, picking at his nails. "I wasn't feeling too hot okay, and my dad can be over-protective. I was coddled and force feed chicken soup all day, thanks for asking. It's nice to know you care," he teased, standing up.

He had just begun pacing when the older man answered him. " _So, it wouldn't have to do with any injured you might have sustained last night would it?"_ he asked.

Stiles shook his head before realising the wolf couldn't see him. "More of this? Listen, mother hen, I'm fine, not even bruised. I probably just caught a cold from being outside in my pyjamas," he argued, cocking a brow. "And I wonder whose fault _that_ is."

Derek growled down the line. _"Don't play the blame game."_

"Yeah, like you'd know how to play a game and have fun, Grumpy-brows," Stiles rolled his eyes. "Even you did, I have no doubt you'd be cheating anyway. God, you must suck at Monopoly."

Once again, a faint growl sounded. _"Scott has your school work with him at the loft,"_ Derek muttered, seemingly leaving the previous comment in the past. _"If you want it, you had better come and get it."_

Stiles opened his mouth to reply when a shout over the phone stopped him short. " _And bring pizza!"_

"Whatever Isaac," he allowed, rolling his eyes. "I'll be there in a bit sourwolf, don't wait up." Hanging up without waiting for the – no doubt insulting to his character – reply, Stiles threw his phone beside his laptop, running a hand over his hair.

At the mention of food, his stomach had let out an obnoxiously loud rumble, reminding the teenager that he had been ignoring it for the better part of the day. Wiping his hands down his face and hopefully erasing any signs of exhaustion, Stiles shook his head. _Shower first, food later,_ he decided with a firm nod. He'd hate to roll up to the loft smelling like pain, blood and rogue wolf; because pizza or not, the wolves would question him.

Forcing himself to leave the comfort of his room, he stumbled down the hallway towards the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the hallway cupboard on the way. He had a few shower products that were overwhelming in their smell admittedly, and a few that were more subtle, depending on his needs. Grabbing the stronger ones, he flicked on the shower, deciding that the less he smelt like pain and misery the better.

Stripping down he jumped in the shower, going through his usual routine but making sure to scrub harder on his skin than usual. The almost sickeningly powerful scent of dark chocolate – don't judge his shower products and he won't judge yours – filled his nostrils and he wrinkled his nose, quickly washing the soap off his body. The shampoo was thankfully richer and quiet like his natural scent; if only so he had something to blame the spicy wooden scent on.

Once his hair was clean and he'd inspected every bare inch of flesh, he turned off the shower, drying himself off with careful movements. His muscles still ached, nap or not, and he grimaced while roughly drying his hair when the movement shook his shoulders and upper back.

"Ah, shit," he grumbled, rolling his shoulders with another whimper of pain. "Dammit..."

As he wandered back into his bedroom, he noticed his phone ringing once again and snarled going to answer it with an annoyed; "What!"

" _Whoa, calm down there son,"_ John defended himself instantly, caution lacing his tone. " _I'm only calling to check up on you... and to remind you about our deal of course,"_ he soothed, the absent rustling of papers sounding in the background.

Stiles settled, the beast in his chest rumbling contently. "Yeah, I know, grease this and grease that," he rolled his eyes. "Derek called and asked me to come over to the loft; Scott has my homework and I'm on pizza duty. I'll deliver one to you kay?" he promised, sifting through his drawers for clothing. "What'dyah want?"

John hummed in thought happily. _"Everything."_

"Supreme?" Stiles echoed, closing his eyes. "You know, despite being able to hear your clearly healthy heart, I feel like it's clogging up whenever I turn my back," he muttered pettily. "Fine, I'll get you everything, but healthy heart or not, that's your take out for the month!"

John grumbled in frustration. _"Yeah, yeah, just get me my pizza,"_ he demanded. _"And be back home by eleven, it's still a school night."_

Nodding, Stiles threw his clothing on the bed. "I will, see you in a bit then dad," he promised. "Love you."

" _Love you too Stiles,"_ John murmured before hanging up.

Glaring down at his phone, Stiles snorted as he threw it on the bed, watching it bounce. "What the hell am I today?" he muttered, throwing on the clothing absentmindedly. "Grand Central Station?"

Looking down at himself and deciding that the batman shirt – eat your heart out Hale – wasn't enough, he threw on a red hoodie, settling himself into the warm cotton. Grabbing his phone and keys he stormed out the door, already calling up the local pizzeria and pre ordering the unhealthy food as he locked up the house.

* * *

Over thirty minutes later found Stiles lugging the box through the police station, barely earning a second glance as he strode towards the offices at the back of the building. "Dad," he called. "I brought you your heart attack, free of charge!"

John perked up at his desk, smiling when his son moved into the room. "Stiles, you're amazing," he gushed. "Gotta love free delivery."

"Only free _delivery_ ," Stiles grinned back. "Cause I used your card to pay for it," he admitted, passing the older man the box. His father froze, and glared at him weakly, still shoving a piece in his mouth nonetheless. "Yeah, love you too," he sniggered.

Swallowing, and taking the pizza away from his lips, John arched a brow. "About to head over to the Hale kid's place then?" he asked.

Stiles nodded, leaning against the wooden desk his father worked at. "Yeah, I'm bringing an early dinner apparently, and I need to get my homework," he explained. "Derek called and thought I wasn't at school because I was injured last night..." Stiles wiped a hand down his face. "He's not letting it go."

"Maybe he's worried?" John offered, frowning as grease bubbled onto his shirt. "I mean, pack takes care of each other right?"

 _Pack doesn't keep secrets from each other..._

"Stiles?"

Looking up, Stiles nodded again. "Yeah, I guess," he allowed before sighing and straightening up. "I better go dad, I'll see you later okay? Don't stay up too late," he ordered, already moving from the room.

He vaguely heard his father say goodbye, but looked down with a frown, guilt eating at his chest. The pack wasn't exactly a new thing anymore, having been established for over a year, and everyone was comfortable with each other now, trusting enough to speak the truth without fear. If anything was new in the hunter way of life, Allison went against her family's wishes and told the pack and if there was anything anyone needed to know about the world of the furry and fabulous, Derek and Peter spilled their guts.

But if there was any, huge, life changing secrets; Stiles apparently kept them to himself.

His phone beeped, breaking his degrading train of thought as it vibrated across the pizza boxes. Frowning, Stiles reached out and scooped up the item, thumbing through the lock screen and studying the message displayed.

 _ **From – Scotty**_ _  
Dude, might wanna hurry. Pack meet about to start, Ally's got some bad news_

Sighing, he nodded and pressed harder on the accelerator; not bothering to answer and instead paying attention to the road. The heavy-set building soon came into view and Stiles skidded to a stop, grimacing when the tires shrieked under the abuse. His hands grabbed the multiple pizza boxes, somehow managing to lock the car and open the door to the warehouse-like structure without dropping them all.

Finally reaching the highest level – and almost falling on the stairs multiple times like the klutz he was – Stiles strode through the main door, hiding behind the stack of boxes. "Honey, I'm home!"

Rustling sounded somewhere before him. "Oh my god, dude, finally!" Isaac was the first one to greet him, grabbing half the boxes so he could smile thankfully at the boy behind them. "You're a lifesaver, Stiles!"

Stiles winked, moving further into the room and dumping the remaining pizzas on the table. "Don't you know it," he replied, rolling his shoulders again as pain flared. "Hey Scotty, I got your text, what's going on?" Grabbing a box in each hand, he passed them to different people, ensuring that each wolf had food before securing a box for himself. "Nothing to do with the Omega from last night right?"

Allison grimaced from where she sat next to her boyfriend. "No, it's a little worse than that," she muttered, reaching into the box Scott was cradling with care.

Stiles cocked a brow when his best friend let the girl touch his food – sometimes even _he_ couldn't get away with that. "What's worse than werewolves? No offence but they're kind of assholes..." Looking around, he grinned ruefully at the unimpressed stares sent his way. "Kinda forgot I was surrounded by werewolves for a second there," he murmured. "So quick subject change before I get maimed please?"

Allison covered her mouth with one hand, hurrying to swallow her mouthful as she snorted in amusement. "Well, Dad gets told about any hunter activity in the area. It's like a code, I suppose... Werewolves do the same right? If a pack has to cross another packs territory they ask permission..." Looking to Derek for confirmation, she continued once he'd nodded. "Well, this guy kind of showed up at our house like, an hour ago? He was requesting permission to hunt a rare breed of _were_ that had taken shelter in the area."

"There are more than one kind of _were?_ " Isaac asked in bafflement. "I thought it was only us?"

Derek shook his head, his own pizza disappearing to god knows where once he'd chewed and swallowed. "No, there are a few other types; coyotes, jaguars, hyenas... Some have just died out through the ages, hence them being rarer than others," he explained.

"Cool," Isaac muttered. "So what rare type's hiding in Beacon Hills then?"

Pursing her lips, Allison answered. "I don't know... But this man, dad referred to him as the Collector," she frowned. "Apparently, he hunts down anomalies in our world, or rare creatures and kills them; keeping a memento for himself. Like a big game hunter?"

Derek pushed his food away. "So the big question is; what's he hunting?"

Silence fell over the room, everyone falling into thought as they ate. Unsurprisingly it was Lydia who spoke up first, her voice strong as it echoed off the walls and brought the others back into reality. "We do have an odd pack," she reminded everyone. "For example, a kanima turned wolf."

"And a zombie werewolf," Stiles added, looking across the room to the silent older male. "Course I wouldn't exactly want your head hanging on my wall; trophy or not."

Peter smiled, all teeth. "You'd want me a little closer than your wall I take it Stiles," he purred, making the younger boy shudder. "Bed perhaps?"

" _Shut up_ , god you're creepy," Stiles muttered, shaking his head.

Ignoring the now uncomfortable boy, the alpha leant forward. "Either of you two would be good trophies," Derek agreed, furrowing his brows. "We'll need to keep an eye out then, make sure none of us are being followed or watched. We don't know the Collector well enough to take him down without a thought; we'll need to study him in return to make sure he doesn't have anything he could use to get the jump on us."

Faltering as he chewed, Stiles leant to the left. "I think that's the most I've ever heard him say at once," he murmured into Isaac's ear, smiling when the childish boy chortled. "Well, the most that wasn't insulting to my person of course."

Derek glared across the room. "That reminds me," he began slowly. "How are you feeling, _Stiles."_

"Uninjured, _Derek_ , _"_ he replied with a short frown. "You know, with how much you guys are nagging one would think you didn't trust me."

Derek didn't answer.

"Ouch," Stiles commented, shoving the rest of the slice in his mouth.

Scott chuckled lightly. "We trust you man," he promised, waving off the boys concern. "But you're human; we've got to keep an eye on you." He winked playfully to take out any sting or bite, but Stiles still bristled in annoyance.

 _Human, my ass_

"Yeah," Stiles said blandly. "Human." Ignoring the sharp look he received from some of the wolves, he stood. "Hey, uh, I better head home anyway, so can I get that homework?" he asked, smiling weakly at his friend. "Dad didn't want me out for long."

Scott hurried to fetch his bag, sifting through its contents. "Yeah, because you're sick right," Derek remembered slowly. "You don't smell sick."

Feeling his patience hang on a thin thread, Stiles closed his eyes. "Seeing as your _talented nose_ was wrong last night, I wouldn't be surprised if you were wrong again," he bit out, smiling as his best friend passed him his workload. "Thanks man."

"You _were_ bleeding last night though," Derek pointed out.

Levelling the man with a glare, Stiles moved towards the entrance to the loft. "Prove it," he demanded, turning sharply on his heel and leaving the room.

* * *

 **Hey guys! I thought you might wanna know that I'll be updating this story every Monday, to brighten up the otherwise dark and terrible day, but I am on NZST (New Zealand Standard Time) so the actual date and time may vary for certain readers?**

 **I hope you liked the chapter, read and review because I love hearing what you guys have to say! Thank you** _ValeriusNZ_ **and** _Zayren Heart_ **for reviewing last chapter!**

 **Taila xx**


	3. Panic! At The Classroom

Stiles ignored his father's attempts at calming him, instead continuing to walk from the wall to the window, back and forth until he almost felt dizzy.

"Stiles, kid," John started, lifting a hand. "Come on, calm down and tell me what's wrong; you've been pacing since I got home."

The teenager shook his head harshly, turning sharply so he could continue his pattern. "Who knew about mum?" he demanded suddenly, swallowing thickly as he looked up at his father. "I don't... I don't mean too upset you but I need to know, I'm sorry."

John shifted on the couch, leaning back into its comfort. "Only a few people, but I don't know where any of them are now," he explained. "Once your mother died, I didn't bother to keep up with contact. That was her world, not mine."

Stiles nodded, running a hand through his growing hair. "There's... Remember when I told you about the Argents?" he questioned, staring down at the older male imploringly.

"You said they were hunters?" John asked uncertainly, his tone putting a question mark at the end of the sentence. "That they were more or less the answer as to why your prom night sucked and why you disappeared on me for a few days."

Wincing at the reminder of his kidnapping, Stiles sighed. "Yeah, well they're not the only ones, and now there's a new bad guy in town."

"You sound like a bad movie trailer," John commented, hurrying to hold up his hands in surrender when whiskey eyes shot over to his form. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood," he defended with a sigh. "I'm listening though Stiles, so who's the new bad guy and can I shoot them?"

Stiles chuckled weakly, dropping himself onto the edge of the couch. "I wish you could," he murmured. "In my world he's called the Collector – cheesy I know, but he's known for killing rare or unusual creatures. And apparently he's hit the jackpot here."

"Your pack?"

Worrying his lower lip with his teeth, Stiles shrugged helplessly. "I don't know," he wailed. "Apparently he's here after a rare _were_ but the pack thinks he's either after Jackson or Peter... I'm... I'm scared he's here... for..."

"You?" John offered in a low voice, reaching out to embrace his son with one arm. "Son, if it comes to that, maybe you'll need to break your little rule."

Closing his eyes, Stiles steeled himself. " _No,"_ he decided firmly, turning to stare into his father's eyes in determination. "At first, I was too... scared to tell Scott because he didn't believe about werewolves and the supernatural, then it was because of all the things that were happening; I couldn't find the right time," he simpered, shaking his head. "Now... Now it's to protect them."

"How are you protecting them Stiles?" John asked tiredly. "What if this man is here for you? What if he hurts them trying to get to you?"

"Dad don't – "

"No, son, listen," John demanded softly. "They can help you, and you know it. Even if this man isn't after you, one day someone might be. You'll need your pack behind you," he reminded the boy. "The longer you wait to tell them, the more damage it'll cause to the trust you've been building."

Closing his eyes and swallowing back the lump in his throat, Stiles mentally realised his father was right – as he often was. One day, he'd need his pack and if they didn't know why, would they help? Hating the twinge of panic that curled in his chest, Stiles nibbled on his lower lip nervously.

"What if they hate me?" he whispered in dismay, looking to his father with tear rimmed whiskey pools. "I couldn't take that dad."

John looked between the golden orbs, chewing over his words. "You wouldn't have to take that son," he promised passionately. "You wouldn't have to take that because they'd never hate you, do you understand me?"

Stiles just stared, features twisted in a forlorn expression. The eldest Stilinski studied him for a few seconds longer, watching thoughts flash behind bright irises and twist the boy's lips this way and that. Gently squeezing the shoulder he was holding, John cracked a smile.

"Go grab those damned movies you love so much," he suddenly murmured, smiling at his son's hopeful expression. It was an improvement from the look of horror. "I think I can sit through a couple of Star Wars film if I have popcorn."

Stiles brightened, but the haunted look still darkened his eyes. "I'll be right back," he rushed out, hurrying up the stairs to his bedroom, skidding to a stop once he reached his haven. "Star Wars... Star Wars..." he muttered, looking through his movies for the aforementioned title.

He'd think about his father's words another time, but for now he planned on just enjoying the older man's company. He knew his father was sometimes lost in the world of the supernatural, but he also knew the man tried his damnest to help; whether it was with warm words or a few hours of his time. Smiling, Stiles reached out and pulled down the first episode, studying the front cover as he pushed all thoughts of hunters and wolves from his mind.

"Hey dad, don't burn the popcorn again," he called, moving back out the door and back down the stairs. " _Charred_ is an acquired taste I don't have."

* * *

Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, Stiles whistled under his breath, staring at the double story house before him impatiently.

Last night had been all he'd needed to lose the stress the previous days had piled onto him, and he was ready for the rest of the week; whether the hunter showed his face or not. His father always had the effect on him, and seeing as he was thoroughly exhausted from yelling at the television screen – the idiocy of Jedi's never failed to surprise him – he'd slept through the whole night.

Which was a first in recent weeks.

"Come on Scotty," he muttered, throwing open the car door and moving closer to the house. Having failed to pick up his best friend yesterday for school, he'd promised to do so today. "Knock knock," Stiles called, opening the front door and peering inside. "Scott? Melissa?"

At the shout of her name, Scott's mother rounded the corner. "Oh hello, Stiles," she greeted warmly. "You here for Scott?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I was meant to pick him up for school. Is he upstairs?" he questioned, already moving closer to the second floor.

Melissa chuckled as the young teenager inched up the stairs, eyes wide and innocent. "Yeah, he is," she revealed, rolling her eyes fondly. "But he said something about a pack meeting today? He's not lying so he can skip with Allison is he?"

Hesitating, Stiles mulled over the thought, still unused to how relaxed the middle aged woman was around things concerning the supernatural. "No, if there's a pack meeting, he'd tell you the truth," he mumbled, pulling out his phone. No messages. "I haven't heard anything about it though... I'll check with him now."

"Thanks Stiles," she called up after him, moving back into the kitchen.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he called out something unintelligible over his shoulder in response. His feet carried him to his friend's room without hesitation and he walked in as though he owned the place. "Scotty?"

The boy in question popped his head out from the closet. "Oh hey man," he greeted. "What are you doing here?"

Stiles shifted on his feet, juggling his car keys in his hands. "Uh, I'm here to pick you up for school?" he commented, arching a brow. "But apparently you're not coming... today..."

Scott emerged, tugging on a shirt. "Yeah, Derek called everyone this morning. He's decided to confront the Collector after all," he shrugged. "I think he's having some second thoughts about what the dude's really after you know?"

"Why?" Stiles demanded. "Both Jackson and Peter would be exactly what he'd want?"

Scott shoved his wallet and phone in his pocket. "Nah, we're not so sure anymore. Allison over heard her dad talking to the hunter again late last night. We're pretty sure he's after a rare creature, not an anomaly like those two," he explained, throwing on a jacket as well. "We're confronting him as a pack today, so no school."

Frowning as the other boy pretended to thank the man in the sky; both hands held in prayer, Stiles pointed something out. "Uh, I wasn't told about this?"

Looking back down, Scott hesitated before smiling brightly. "Oh, well, I guess its cause you're not a wolf?"

"Allison isn't a wolf," Stiles muttered. "Neither is Lydia."

Scott grinned sheepishly. "Allison's a hunter and Lydia's a banshee remember...?" he chuckled, dropping the boy's gaze guiltily. "Sorry man, I don't think Derek wants to take a risk with you getting injured."

Biting back his anger seeing as he had no right to feel it; Stiles forced himself to nod and smile. "Course," he grinned. "I get it man, don't sweat," he waved one hand dismissively. "Want me to get you the homework?"

Scott perked up. "Oh mister, would you please?" he whined dramatically.

"Only since you asked nicely," Stiles chuckled, moving back towards the door. "See you later dude," he shouted, slowing as he reached the stairs. Wandering aimlessly into the kitchen, he looked for brown eyes. "Melissa? It's true, there is a pack meeting," he smiled at the woman.

"You're going too?" she asked, packing her lunch.

Stiles hesitated, struggling to keep up with the smile. "Nah," he replied easily. "I better get to school anyway, see you later."

He pretended not to catch her pitying look as he strolled casually out the door, throwing and then catching his car keys as he moved. His baby girl was waiting for him, and he quickly hopped in, backing away from the house as though it had caused him personal offence.

This was his own fault really so he couldn't be angry, especially when he understood their reasoning. This hunter was no doubt looking for someone they knew and cared about; so why show such weakness by revealing that you had a human in your pack? Allison, yes, was technically human but she was trained to be better. She'd been shooting arrows and hitting the marks while Stiles had been eating paste and drawing stick figures.

Parking the car at the school, Stiles released a shuddering sigh. In the packs eyes he was their weak spot.

And he'd been the one to tell them that.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Isaac mumbled, shifting on his feet nervously. The woods around them were quiet, and they stood surrounding the small cabin with an air of impatience; waiting for the hunter to return. "I mean, what if he isn't really alone?"

Derek looked over his shoulder, reaching out to pat the boys arm in comfort. "He wouldn't dare lie about how many were with him," he soothed, looking to the hunter in their circle. "And he said he was alone, right?"

Allison nodded. "He's by himself," she promised. "More glory when there's only one person to share it amongst."

Snorting at the explanation, Derek heard some bushes crackling some distance away. "He's coming," he murmured, unable to help it as his hackles rose. The footsteps grew louder and closer, and absently Derek shifted to stand in front of his pack, leaving him able to protect them should he need too. "Get ready..."

The man who broke through the clearing froze upon seeing his audience, hand flying to his waist band. A weapon was no doubt stored there but he didn't pull it out, instead offering up a limp smile. "The Hale Pack I assume," he spoke up, moving to stand before them.

Derek narrowed his eyes, studying the blonde male with a critical eye. He'd fought bigger. "That would be correct," he rumbled.

The man smiled, revealing pearly whites. "Nice to meet you," he greeted warmly. "Chris told me about you, a warning more than anything I suppose. I was wondering if I'd bump into you at all... I was _hoping_ too, in all honesty."

"Hoping too?" Derek parroted, folding his arms.

The blonde chuckled almost self consciously, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah well, you're not exactly an unknown pack, you know? Also, I guess I wanted to explain myself a little..." he admitted, looking up through his lashes. "Before you rip out my throat, just know I'm after no one in your pack."

Derek cocked his head, looking behind him to meet a relieved Jackson's gaze. "You're not?" he demanded, taking one step forward. "Who are you after then?"

The man lifted a hand, shaking it briefly. "I don't actually know," he murmured, beginning to pace a small line in the clearing. "It's a rare breed, and I _know_ it's here, but I don't know anything about it. Age, gender, the potency of its bloodline..." he sighed, chuckling again. "All I know is it's here and I want it."

Something manic flashed in the man's blue eyes, and Derek resisted the urge to step back. "What is it?" he asked lowly, realising the man hadn't exactly dodged his question, more answered without truly answering.

"A fox," the man grinned. "I take it you know how rare _those_ are?"

Looking behind him to his uncle, Derek posed his question with a simple lift of his brows. Peter sighed and broke the formation they'd fallen into, moving to his nephew's side as though it pained him to be included. "Were-foxes weren't hunted like our kind are," he began slowly. "But unlike our kind, their gift can't be passed through a bite. They have to be born that way."

"Correct," the burly blonde allowed, nodding. "And once the largest pack of foxes was taken out by a group of rogue hunters..."

"They became almost unheard of," Peter finished. "It's rare for the gift to be passed down if only one parent's a fox, so usually you require both," he informed the confused teenagers behind him. "Nowadays, the only generation are my age and usually quite... Mellowed, I suppose you could say."

Derek ground his teeth together, absorbing the information. There had been a supernatural creature on his land, and he hadn't noticed. Threat or not, it was unacceptable. "Mellowed? What the hell does that mean?"

"Unlike us, nephew dear, if a fox stops using its abilities they can wear down with time. There are stories about foxes who eventually lost the ability to change at all," Peter explained.

Nodding and accepting the explanation, Derek turned back to the man. "How did you know this fox was in the area?" he asked next, cocking a brow.

"I have a few eyes and ears scattered around," the blonde shrugged. "Were-foxes are quite alike to usual red foxes, but there are differences. Size, mannerisms, eye colour..." he listed, pursing his lips. "Ever heard of a _Cross Fox?"_

Derek shook his head.

"It's just a breed of fox, but one that isn't prone to this area. They're quite gangly, long legs and the like with fur that shines four colours; black, dark brown, red and silver. Quite a beautiful pelt, I'll tell you that," the blonde smiled again, eyes taking on a wistful glaze. "It's a kit too, which is strange."

Almost everyone stiffened. "A kit?" Peter drawled, his tone refusing to reveal that the words disturbed him.

"A child," the man continued. "Which leads me to believe it's younger than I expected. I know it's a _were_ and I want that pelt on my wall... Stay out of my way, or better yet assist me, and I'll forget about the interesting members your own pack houses... Get _in_ my way..." he smiled, allowing the threat to hang in the air between them.

Derek straightened his shoulders. "We don't know about any foxes in the area," he explained stiffly. "We'll stay out of your way, but you _will_ keep to yourself. You will only take this kit and then you will leave, understood?"

The man lifted both hands in surrender. "I only want it, however interesting your own pack is, this means more to me than you'd think," he bowed at the waist, a sign of respect. "I am not the only collector out there, but I will be the only way to have gained such a beautiful creature."

The man looked over the forest. "That fox is _mine."_

Unknown to the group, a shudder passed through their missing member, leaving them feeling on edge without explanation. Miles away, hunched over a school desk, Stiles was shivering in fright and struggling to control his breath.

"You can have it," Derek replied bitterly. "It's all yours."

The man grinned. "I appreciate your cooperation," he murmured. "Now you must excuse me, but I have a fox to find," he bowed once again and fearlessly strode past them all to hole himself up inside the cabin behind them. "Have a pleasant day."

Once the door shut, Derek instantly led his pack away from the building, not speaking until they were back on the preserve.

"That man was fucking terrifying," Isaac stammered, using both his hands to push his curls back from his face. "If I never meet the man again it'll be too soon."

Derek nodded silently.

"What did he mean by a kit?" Allison asked next, looking around the circle with big, doe-like eyes. "He said it was a child, but he can't mean... he can't mean a _child_ child, right?" she begged in a near whisper. "I don't know if I could live with myself if I let him kill a child..."

Lydia was nodding in agreement. "If we let him skin that child, we'd be as bad as him," she murmured.

Surprisingly, Peter was the one to put them to rest. "A kit could mean a lot of things, but most likely we're looking at someone your age," he commented idly. "A child that young wouldn't have the ability to change, I wouldn't think, and if you could all fully complete a change like Derek, your forms would most likely be pups as well."

"So, we probably go to school with this fox?" Scott realised slowly, looking around for confirmation. "We probably see them every day?"

Derek finally spoke. "That would be most likely," he agreed. "I want you to keep your eyes peeled, alright? We're not going to actively help this man, but if we find something that could get him out of town quicker, we're telling him. I don't like him here."

Something cold passed down his spine and the alpha turned, studying the blonde female in their pack. "Erica?"

The teenager looked up. "Something... something doesn't feel right you know?" she whispered. "I feel disconnected... I'm scared, and I don't know why..."

Derek moved forward to cup her neck. "We're fine," he promised. "You have nothing to fear, Erica; he's not going to touch you." Offering her a small smile seemed to cheer her up a little, and Derek turned to the others. "Someone call Stiles, he'll still be in class, but I don't doubt he'll make up an excuse to leave."

Scott nodded, pulling out his phone and pressing speed dial. Smiling ruefully, he shrugged, throwing the phone on speaker as the dial tone rang out.

* * *

Stiles leant against the locker, breathing harshly. The ache in his chest was lessening, but the panic attack he'd barely managed to avoid was still tugging at the edges of his mind, reminding him about the sheer fear he'd felt minutes before.

"What the hell was that..." he murmured, shaking his head. His hands itched to grab the phone resting like a burning coal in his pocket; his mind begging him to ring his friends. Something wasn't right...

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell, moving to go outside and ring until someone answered. Just as he was about to tap the image that would ring his alpha, his phone jerked in his hand, beginning to silently ring.

Staring down in fear, Stiles shakily answered. "Scotty?" he whispered.

 _Something's happened, oh god something bad has happened..._

" _Hey Stiles,"_ the boy greeted, sounding unharmed. _"Are you alright? You answered quickly_ ," he noted next, the absent howling of wind echoing in the background.

Closing his eyes, Stiles shook his head. "I... uh, had..." he frowned and looked down at his free hand, noticing the way it still trembled.

" _Stiles, man are you okay?"_ Scott demanded, his tone turning urgent.

Breathing out a small sigh, Stiles swallowed. "I feel like I should be asking you guys that," he admitted with an uneven laugh. "I mean, I dunno, I feel like... Did something happen?"

" _We meet the Collector,"_ Scott revealed after a few seconds. _"Stiles, are you sure you're okay?"_

Stiles ignored him, moving towards his car nervously. "Did he hurt any of you?" he questioned almost angrily, his lips twisting into a scowl as he spoke.

" _No, we're fine, but are you?"_ Scott asked, his voice turning small and stopping the angered boy in his tracks. _"Stiles come on man, what happened? You sound freaked out."_

Slumping against his car, Stiles choked on air. "I... I almost had a panic attack in class okay," he murmured softly, shaking his head. Human or not, he was still weak it seemed. "I don't know why, but I couldn't breathe and I panicked... I thought something had happened and... Are you sure you're all okay?"

" _Jesus Stiles, you should have told me!"_ Scott scolded, his voice sounding distant for a few seconds before coming back louder than before. _"Yes, I'm sure we're fine, don't worry... Actually, when I think about it, we're better than fine. The Collector isn't after any of us."_

Stiles knew that his best friend was trying to sooth him with good news and he smiled, chuckling quietly as he measured his breathing. "Who's the poor sod that's caught his attention then?"

" _Poor sod alright,"_ Scott admitted with a laugh of his own. _"Not only does he want to kill said sod, but he plans on skinning him as well. Wants the pelt actually, seems quite set on it too."_

Stiles hesitated, his smile slipping. "A wolf pelt?" he questioned weakly.

" _Nah,"_ Scott answered happily, not noticing his friend's lack of enthusiasm. _"A fox."_

Doubling over, Stiles felt his chest constrict; the panic attack he'd barely avoided coming back in full force. The muscles in his chest – his ribs – were straining and burning, begging for air as he crumpled on the ground.

" _Stiles? Stiles!"_

Whimpering, Stiles gasped for air, hanging up on his friend as black crept into his vision. Holding down the number two, he waited as the phone rang, one hand pressing against his sternum and his mouth moving without sound.

" _Sheriff_ _Stilinski,"_ John murmured over the line. _"Oh, Stiles is that you? Sorry, I know your name comes up, but its habit to answer like that."_

Stiles couldn't find the air to answer.

" _Stiles?"_ John's voice took on an edge of panic. " _Are you at the school? Son?"_ Stiles struggled to force out a sound, managing a small whimper. _"I'm coming son, hold on."_

* * *

 **Don't hate me, I know this chapter was a little fast but compared to my usual length of stories this one is only going to be short! Roughly twenty-five to thirty chapters, all over three thousand words...**

 **Anyway, thank you** _ **ValeriusNZ, latrice555, fadingshadowss, yuki-eevee, Mangy, Zayren Heart, xaveriix**_ **and** _ **The Krystal Cat**_ **for your reviews, you really have no idea how much they mean! I love you all, and hope you enjoyed this latest chapter.**

 **Taila xx**


	4. Argumentative

_He'd seen it in her eyes._

 _The moment she'd realised she wasn't long for this world. Her eyes – whiskey in colour – had turned dull when she realised that the dementia had won in the fight for her life. And Stiles had watched it all._

" _I love you baby boy," Claudia whispered, managing the strength to stroke a hand across his brow. When he turned tearful eyes on her, she nodded sombrely, a quiet chuckle leaving her lips. "You know that right?"_

 _The child ran a sleeve under his nose, sniffing back the tears. "I-I know mum," he choked._

 _His father wasn't in the room, he'd only left for a minute, but the woman seemed to know he wouldn't make it back in time. Her eyes looked over the boy's shoulder, un-focusing for a split second before coming back to his splotched red features. Another smile lit up her face. "You know, you have a pretty smile," she murmured, poking lightly at the down turned corners of his lips._

 _Unable to help himself, her son cracked a smile. "Dad... dad says it's... it's your smile," he voiced hopefully, blinking eyes that seemed to large._

" _It is, another trait I passed down to you," Claudia promised. "God, I love you so much, so so much," she whimpered, closing her eyes and tugging him forward until their foreheads met. "My beautiful baby boy."_

 _The woman pulled back, her son frowning at the loss. "I love you too mum," he whispered almost silently. "Please...p-please don't leave me..."_

 _He looked up, witnessing the light flickering in her eyes and choked on another breath. With a shuddering sigh, the woman seemed to give up, her features falling slack but her chest didn't move to suck back in the air she lost._

" _Mum?" Stiles quickly wiped his nose, sitting up further. "Mum? Mum, don't, mummy you have to wake up!" he pleaded, shaking her shoulders as a low chimed beep echoed throughout the room. Faintly, he heard a scuffle outside the door, but climbed further onto the bed with more pleaded screams. "Mummy? Mum, no, please... You said we'd go for a run this week, mum? Mum?"_

 _The door burst open, allowing multiple people entrance but they were blurs to the child. "Get the child away," a mess of white and peach instructed. "We need a crash cart in here!"_

 _The small sobbing boy was pulled away, kicking and screaming from the corpse and despotised outside the door with another blob of colour. Inside the room, the low chimed beep continued, signalling that the heart still wasn't pounding as it should be._

 _The nurse spoke to him, but he ignored her, instead straining to see over her shoulder. "Mum..."_

 _The pain hit him hard._

 _It wasn't the pain of realising that his mother wasn't coming back – his childish faith refused him that truth – but the pain of his inner beast crying out. The creature who shared his soul and body knew that his pack mate was dead. And it broke both their hearts._

 _Crying out, the boy pressed a hand against his chest, hoping to get the heart within it to remain in one piece as he doubled over, knees hitting the tiled floor. The nurse seemed to leave him to his grief, only offering an absentminded rub of his back before heading back to her station. The boy paid her no heed, instead trying to focus on keeping his agony from showing._

 _Panic was gripping him, making his mind howl in fear as his lungs craved air. The lack of knowledge as to what was happening made the boy panic all the more, gasping and begging for air as his limbs trembled from an unknown pressure._

" _Son?"_

 _Looking up, he meet warm but sorrowfilled eyes. "She's..." the boy shook his head, crying openly and clawing at his chest. "I can't..." he breathed, choking on nothing. "Can't... breathe..."_

 _John struggled to calm his son, lifting the boy closer to him and soothing him with unintelligible babble as he rocked them both back and forth. His own eyes spilled over with hot tears, but he held his son tighter. He might not know as much as his wife did, having not been born into the world she lived in, but he could do this for her._

 _For their son._

" _I've got you son," he whispered. "Just breathe okay? You can breathe, its fine, I promise you..." he closed his eyes, and winced with every gasping breath his son drew in. "I'm here okay..."_

* * *

John Stilinski swallowed the lump in his throat, rocking his son back and forth lightly. The boy gasped painfully in his arms, blunt fingernails clawing at the thick material of his uniform jacket.

"I've got you Stiles," he promised, resting his head on the ever growing mop of brown. "I'm here, I mean it, okay, just breathe for me," he instructed softly, closing his eyes.

In his arms, Stiles struggled to overcome the feeling that he couldn't breathe, because he knew he _could._ There was nothing stopping him from taking in the air he needed but his own mind. Opening his mouth wider, he tried to gasp in the air he so desperately needed, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes in the attempt.

The man wanted him. His fox. His pelt. His fur.

A strangled noise left his throat at the realisation, his father only squeezing him tighter in response. It had been minutes – despite feeling like hours – but the panic attack was refusing to ebb away, instead standing stubbornly tall as it forced the air from his lungs and common sense from his mind.

Absently, Stiles knew his father was beginning to panic himself. The man thought his child was over these attacks, but now when things were getting better, he had to watch as his baby boy succumbed to one similar to the one he'd had _that day._

"Stiles," John whispered. "Please, baby, calm down. You're safe, you're safe... Please..."

The pleading wormed its way into his mind, easing the panic and allowing the boy to breathe a little easier. He still gasped and squirmed, but John breathed out a sigh of relief; recognizing that the attack was beginning to fade.

Gently petting the boy's hair, occasionally drawing his nails across the scalp, John continued to whisper. "Stiles, what happened?" he asked. "You haven't had an attack that bad in a while..."

Hiccupping, Stiles shook his head. "M-me... the hunter, the n-new one in town... h-he wants me," he revealed with another agonized sound, closing his eyes firmly.

John hesitated, closing his eyes against the fear growing in his chest. "Come on," he murmured, hefting the boy up with twin hands under his armpits. "I wanna get you home and into something warm, okay? Then we'll talk."

Stiles nodded, sighing when a hand pressed against his shoulder. "Yeah, but I need to drive home, I'm not leaving my car here," he reminded the older male, brushing the hand away. "I'll be fine, I need a few minutes to myself anyway," he added under his breath, already moving back towards his car.

Behind him, his father wandered back to his own vehicle leaving his son to hop into his battered jeep. Stiles leant his head against the steering wheel, sucking in a shuddering breath as his father's car pulled away. The sound of the cruiser faded, and the boy straightened up, wiping a hand across his brow as he inserted the keys into the dashboard. John had pressed the metallic items into his hands along with his phone and with a wince, Stiles woke the idle device.

 _Three missed calls from Scotty_

 _Five messages from; Scotty, Cat-woman, Backstreet Boyds and Sourwolf_

Stiles felt his eyebrows climb up. "Derek...?" he muttered, shaking his head in confusion. Throwing his phone to the side, he started the tedious drive home, rubbing a hand over his features as he did so.

He'd had a panic attack.

Nearly two years without an incident, without _anything_ , and then this had to happen. Stiles cursed under his breath, witnessing the cruiser slowing ahead of him. He couldn't bear to imagine what his father was thinking, and with a heavy heart he realised he didn't want to know. The subject of his pack was already a sore spot between the two of them, and the topic of many arguments as of late.

It had started when John noticed his son was turning his friends down occasionally, only to sit at home and mope. He'd been furious. Stiles had finally gotten what he'd been empty without, but now that he had it he was refusing himself?

It was a big _don't_ in the Stilinski bible according to his father.

But Stiles couldn't help it.

Yes, the pack was comfortable and now an established family but Stiles... Stiles was _lying_ to them all. Didn't his father see that some things couldn't be forgiven? A pack was built on faith and trust, much like a family was, only this connection ran deeper. And, Stiles... he was disconnected.

Clenching his teeth, Stiles pulled into the driveway with another aching realisation. He didn't deserve the pack. Not after what he'd done; he honestly didn't. Forcing down the brimming panic, Stiles hopped out of his car, slamming the door behind him. His feet carried him up to the front door where his father was still struggling to ram his keys into the door, his mind otherwise occupied.

"Come on Stiles," John grumbled, ripping his keys from the lock and the teenager from his thoughts. "I think we need to talk, son."

Stiles followed behind his father, already shedding his jacket with one arm. He could feel eyes on his form and forced his face to remain neutral as he wandered further into the house, ignoring the stare from his father. "Dad?"

"You said this hunter was after you?" John spoke, shoving both his hands in pockets before jerking his head towards the couch in a silent command. "You meant that Collector guy didn't you?"

Slumping over in the seat, Stiles managed a nod. "Yeah dad," he admitted, closing his eyes in exhaustion. "My uh... _Scott's_ pack went to see him today, confront him, I guess. He... said he wasn't here for a wolf, but uh, a fox pelt it seems."

John rubbed a hand over his features, emotionally drained and physically tired. "That's it," he declared in a voice stronger than he felt. "You're telling them. Today."

Watching the man walk off after his command, Stiles shot to his feet. "I can't, I won't... I – _No!"_

"What the hell do you mean _no_?" John spun, facing the boy with an angered glare. "You are in danger now, Stiles, can't you see that? This man is trying to kill you – that _bastard_ wants you on his wall, and the only people who can save you are the people you're actively trying to avoid!"

"I don't need them dad," Stiles argued. "You can help me, all you have – "

"No."

Stiles stopped talking, mouth hanging open for a few seconds. His father's voice had been cold and sharp, the one his son had heard him use on many criminals in the past. Swallowing thickly, Stiles felt his already aching heart be pained further. "What?" he breathed.

John clenched his jaw. "I said no Stiles," he repeated. "I can't help you this time. I won't."

"But... But you said it yourself, this guy could _kill_ me!"

John nodded, already hearing his own words ringing in his mind. "Yeah, but your pack can save you," he countered, turning to carry on with his trek into the kitchen. "And this time, I'm not giving you a choice between us. You want to live? You accept the pack. _Fully_ accept the pack."

Grabbing the whiskey bottle and a tumbler, John turned to leave. "I won't sit back and watch you waste away anymore. I've already had to do that once, and I can't do it again."

Making a strangled noise, Stiles clenched his eyes shut, hearing his father begin to leave the room. He'd tried. Dammit, he'd tried to make his father understand why...

"I don't deserve them."

John froze. "Stiles?"

"I don't deserve them dad," Stiles murmured, clenching his fists. "I've lied to them, cheated them... A pack is like a family, only the bond runs deeper. It's built on trust and faith... I can't explain it to a human, it's too difficult," he snapped in frustration.

John sighed, already moving to pour a glass of amber gold. "You deserve them Stiles, don't be an idiot," he replied gently. "I might not understand, but I understand that you feel..."

"Disconnected?"

"Yeah," the older male sighed. "Stiles, I need to know why you won't tell them. Why are you so scared?"

Stiles felt his eyes snap up, a growl building in his chest. "I'm not scared," he argued. "When... When Scott was bitten, I was so happy, I mean... I could finally tell him like I'd always wanted too! But... he didn't believe, he didn't think... I wanted to wait until he truly believed in everything you know?" His shoulders slumped again and a lump lodged itself in his throat. "Then, after that, when I was ready, something always came up. I couldn't find the time, you know? There was always something..."

Stiles felt his fingers twitch with the need to grab his father's glass and down the liquid himself. "Then, it was too late... When I finally felt like he could handle it, when I was ready... There were too many factors already in the equation."

"You're thinking about this with logic, son," John realised, shaking his head in horror. "God, Stiles, what factors could stop you from accepting this? You are what you are, and they _will_ accept you, why can you not see that?"

Stiles shoved his hands in jean pockets. "Logic is truthful dad," he shrugged. "My heart's stupid."

John shook his head, looking away from the boy before him. "God..."

"My heart thinks everything going to be okay, even when I know it won't be. That's why I can't trust it," Stiles murmured. "I'm heading to the loft. If I'm facing this guy on my _own_ , I'll need to do some research, maybe borrow some of the packs' books."

The teenager wandered back outside, and behind him his father downed the glass; hurrying to refill it once it was empty.

 _Leave him to it_

Stiles resisted the urge to scream as he threw himself back into his car, one hand hitting the steering wheel with a bruising intensity. It was all coming apart, slowly but surely. His own father wasn't even willing to untie the noose around his neck, instead washing his hands of the issue and drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

If his own flesh and blood didn't want to help him, why would the pack?

"Damn it," he whispered, starting the car and pulling away from the house. His eyes were burning, tears building behind them as he struggled to focus on the road before him. The painted lines on the tarmac were blurring dangerously, and he contemplated stopping until he could actually _see_.

With a quick shake of his head, most of the burning eased. "No," he growled lowly, grinding his teeth together. "If you're going to do this, do it now," he told himself, refusing to acknowledge the cracking in his heart. "You're on your own now."

God, saying it aloud _hurt_.

One hand moved to rub at his aching chest as he drove; the other tugging at the wheel and making the car take a corner rather riskily. The tires screamed under the abuse but he ignored it, looking out for the large building the pack was probably celebrating in.

After all, no one from their pack was being hunted. It was a good day for them – something to put in the goddamn history books.

When the building came up beside him, he slammed his foot down on the brake, hissing when his chest snapped against the seatbelt. The burning pain was easy to ignore as he threw himself from the car, hating even having to be here. His day was already looking to be one of the worst ones in his pitiful existence, and now _stairs_ were getting involved. So many stairs.

Stiles wiped at his eyes as he pushed through the large steel door that cut the loft from the world. "Guys?" he called, tugging on the bottom of his shirt almost nervously.

Everyone seemed to turn in sync, their eyes snapping to the human form as it hesitantly walked further into the room. Some were darkened by conflicting emotions, while others were bright and unnaturally gold or – Stiles winced – red as blood. Walking further into the room, he offered up what he hoped was a bright smile.

"Hey."

Scott stood slowly, looking down to the phone in his hands before it was thrown to the side. "Hey man, what the hell happened?" he demanded, not bothering with pleasantries. "You hung up on me."

Wincing and nodding, Stiles swallowed back a lie. "I uh – you know..." he waved one hand jerkily, dropping golden eyes.

"Actually, I don't know," Scott corrected, his tone showing how angry he really was. "That wasn't cool man; you really freaked us out by hanging up like that! Then you didn't even message us back or anything? I called you like, a hundred times!"

Stiles knew he shouldn't have said it, but the words were out of his mouth before it could stop them. "Three times, actually."

His best friend let out a sound frighteningly close to a snarl. "Jesus, fine! Three times! Funny thing is, you know how many times but you didn't even pick any of those _three_ calls up!" Scott grunted, storming forward and making the teenager skitter back. His golden eyes darkened in confusion as the boy moved away but once again brightened in anger. "I'm pretty sure half of us text you as well."

"It's kinda hard to pick up a call when you can't breathe," Stiles murmured bitterly, making sure to keep a decent amount of space between himself and the angered wolf.

Scott faltered. "What the hell do you mean you couldn't breathe?" he demanded next.

Looking up with red rimmed eyes, Stiles made a noise. "I told you I almost had a panic attack," he reminded the other boy, shrugging the topic away like it didn't matter. "When the second time came around, I couldn't fight it. Sorry for worrying you."

The werewolf paled somewhat. "You had a panic attack?" Scott questioned weakly, tall form crumpling. "And I just spent the last ten minutes yelling at you because I'm an asshole," he finished lamely, cradling his head in his hands. "World class asshole, man, why are you still my friend?"

Stiles cracked a smile, shocking himself with the action. "You're not too bad," he allowed. "You're kinda in the green anyway – I should've called you back when I _could_ breathe instead of making you wait but..."

"But..." Scott prompted.

The burning was back. "I rang dad," he explained carefully, smiling in hopes that his best friend wouldn't be offended. "He rushed over, and yeah we had a fight and I don't know what to do..."

 _Do I tell you? Scott man, should I tell you the truth?_

"So," Stiles continued, wiping his hands over his eyes. "I thought I might nosey over here and asked what happened today with the hunter dude?" he lied, smiling brightly and forcing his heart beat steady. It was easier said than done, and a small flutter echoed through his chest.

Across the room, red eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Scott brightened considerably, thoughts of the panic attack far from his mind. "Oh man, he was creepy as _hell!"_ he exclaimed, shaking his head and turning to the others. "I guess if I passed him in the street I wouldn't even look twice but whenever he thought about that fox he's after he went nuts."

"What do you mean nuts?" Stiles questioned innocently, offering a wobbling smile as he sat down. His hands awkwardly fell to his lap and he fidgeted, trying to appear as small as possible. "Like, drooling and screaming at the voices in his head?"

Scott was already waving in dismissal. "Nah, nothing like that, but whenever the... the kit was mentioned, his eyes would light up. It was kinda... uh... you know..."

"Perverse," Lydia stated dully, nestled against her boyfriend's side. All eyes snapped to hers and she looked up from her nails, seemingly happy with the length and state of them. "Every time he mentioned the fox kit he looked giddy. He enjoys what he does and I wouldn't be shocked if he got off on it."

Stiles didn't really care about the hunter's sexual preferences and was instead swallowing back more fear. "Kit?" he squeaked, looking to the others in denial. "He's after a _child?"_

A hand landed on his shoulder, and Stiles jumped half a mile, accusing eyes peering over his shoulder at the older beta. Peter smiled back, not removing his hand. "In our terms, a kit would be more someone your age. Not an actual child," he explained, arching a single brow. "Even we're not so heartless as to let him skin a child."

"Skin?" Stiles deflated slightly.

Peter grinned wider; mildly shocked the teenager hadn't pulled from his grip yet. "Hunter's skin creatures to get their pelt remember?" he mocked lightly. "Come now, the fight with your father can't have rendered the brilliant brain of yours completely useless."

At the comment, Stiles wanted nothing more than to pull away and retort with something sharp witted but he couldn't. Somewhere inside him, his fox was taking comfort from the touch of a pack member – least favourite one or not. "I know what it means," he snapped instead. "I just – how can you guys let him do that to a kid?"

"Not a kid – "

"They're still technically a child!" Stiles corrected harshly. "You said it yourself, they're more likely my age, and I'm pretty sure that seventeen is still classed as youthful. God, you're _letting him murder and torture a child..."_

The room lulled into silence, some confused at the passion in the teenager's words and the cruelty in his voice. Realising how intense he's appeared, Stiles sighed and went to brush away the hand on his shoulder, smiling in apology when the older wolf shot him a knowing look. His mind was still a puddle of loose thoughts and pain, the confusion clouding what was apparently his better judgement.

"I'm sorry," he apologized weakly. "That came out wrong."

Lydia made a noise in her throat. "How did you want it to come out?" she demanded airily, staring the human down. He could practically taste her arrogance hanging in the air but her eyes shone with a tinge of hurt, revealing his comment had hit hard.

"One person isn't worth the whole pack," Stiles murmured slowly, trying to smile towards the silently hurting female. After a few seconds she smiled back, albeit hesitant. "Yeah, sorry, I over-reacted," he apologized quickly, hoping to get on with the reason he'd come to the loft in the first place. "Anyway, I was thinking about doing some research on the matter. You guys got any books about foxes or this hunter fellow?"

Behind him, Peter's eyes were boring into the back of his head. "I should have some," he commented aloofly, moving towards the room he stored the surviving tomes from the fire in. "Come on then."

* * *

 **Whoa, I forgot how hard hitting this chapter was; it was difficult to read over and double check. My heart hurts... Also, wanted to say** _ **The Krystal Cat,**_ **I'm not actually British. I'm a Kiwi from New Zealand, but we do use the same English here, so I understand your confusion!**

 **Thank you, as per usual, to my lovely reviewers;** _ **ValeriusNZ, Mangy, Coley, xaveriix, fadingshadowss, livelygirl2012, The Krystal Cat, Guest, Daddy's little crazy bitch**_ **and** _ **tsukiro!**_ **You guys are amazing, and I love you in a completely non creepy, platonic and friendly way.**

 **Taila xx**


	5. A Spark's Speculation

Stiles stumbled through his bedroom door, arms weighed down by multiple books and scrapes of paper decorated with messy scrawls. It was enough information to keep him up all night, and he was thankful for the reprieve from sleeping – nothing against his comfortable bed and covers, but nightmares weren't his forte.

Dropping the pile carefully onto his desk, he ignored the drunken older man trailing behind him. "Stiles..."

Whiskey eyes remained glued to the books, hands shuffling through the pile and separating hand written notes and ancient texts absently. _Peter has strangely neat writing,_ he noted, studying the words streaking across the page.

"Son, please talk to me..." John murmured weakly, still clutching the bottle of amber gold like it was a lifeline. "I hate it when you're quiet."

The words formed a tight ball of anxiety in Stiles' gut but he continued to thumb through loose paper, eyes roaming over the words and drinking in all the facts. He'd gotten what he'd asked for in the very least, every scrap of information even _mentioning_ the werefox was here in this pile. He definitely wasn't going to sleep tonight.

A sigh echoed from behind him. "I don't wanna loose you Stiles, you know that, but even if I help you with this hunter guy I still will," his father started slowly, words interrupted as he took another swig of whiskey. "Even if I help you and we defeat this guy, you're still going to isolate yourself away from the pack."

He didn't want to admit it – but Stiles had frozen, his hands no longer sorting and eyes no longer reading.

"Your mum did the same thing you know," John chuckled dully, the sound mirthless. "She didn't want to involve herself with others, you were enough for her, but she needed it. You both did and I tried to tell her."

Stiles dropped the book in his hands. "I thought you said you didn't know much about our kind," he accused, turning sharply and meeting his father's tired eyes.

"I didn't and I still don't," John excused, playing with the lid of the bottle. "But I'm not stupid Stiles. Foxes, your kind at least, are very sociable – they _need_ the spark of other supernatural creatures."

Stiles hesitated, faltering before heading closer to the defeated looking male. "Spark?" he echoed, gently sitting himself down on the ground. He looked up at his dad, blinking curiously as he took the bottle of whiskey from his hand. "Mum said something about that once, but I never understood it..."

"I guess I didn't either, but it kinda makes sense now," John slurred, looking put out that his alcohol had been taken away. When the bottle left his grasp though, it was replaced with a hand smaller than his own and he smiled in contentment. "Everyone has a spark, I think," he tried explaining. "The power of life or whatever your mother called it..."

The drunken explanation made the teenager smile slightly. "So, a supernatural creature's spark is... _brighter?"_

"Yeah?" John asked, brow furrowing in the middle. "I guess... When we moved here, Claudia was saying something about a cluster of aura's on the edge of town," he echoed, the words almost mechanical as though the memory was playing behind his eyes. "She said that there was something bright there."

Realisation dawned on the whiskey eyed boy. "The Hales..."

"We had to go there," John remembered. "To get permission to move in... Since this was another pack's territory, we couldn't move in without it."

Stiles sighed, grasping his father's hand tighter. "You met them before the fire?" he questioned softly, lowering his head until it rested against a cotton clad knee. "What were they like?"

The curiosity was burning in his chest, but he didn't look up as to avoid pressuring his father. He could practically hear the man thinking above him, pushing his words through a drunken stupor. "They were strangely nice."

Stiles snorted. "So you didn't met Derek or Peter then," he teased.

"I did," his father replied instantly. "Derek was still young, very young, and distrustful even then. Peter was just like he seems to be now, only more mellowed..." he frowned and looked to the side, staring out the window. "I don't know if they remember me..."

Stiles leant back on his haunches, suddenly wondering why the pack didn't want his father knowing when he clearly already did. None of it was making any sense to his admittedly befuddled brain but he licked his lips, looking up again. "They don't know that you know about everything that's happened, and they don't _want_ you too..." he confessed in confusion. "But Peter has to remember you..."

"I only saw him for a minute," John dismissed drunkenly. "He made a sarcastic comment and left us alone with the alpha."

Stiles wasn't buying it – a talk with the creeper wolf was in order.

"You really want me to tell them, don't you?" he whispered lowly, offering his father a tentative smile. The man only nodded back, eyes glazed over. "I'm scared too dad, I can't lose them."

John smiled back. "You won't."

Stiles could see by the look in his eyes that the man wasn't going to remember this, and nodded slowly. He was gone, lost in the world of drunkenness but still managing to think about his son. "I'll try too dad," he promised, wondering if he would be capable of going through with it. "I'll try but..."

John only patted his shoulder absently, lumbering to his feet. "I know," he replied simply. "I'm gonna go... sleep or something productive."

Stiles helped his father to his bedroom before wandering back into his own, mind brimming with new information. He understood needing permission to move onto grounds another pack had claimed, it was logic, but he didn't understand how the oldest member in their current pack didn't remember. He could blame the coma and fire, he supposed, but sometimes the man's creepy smile seemed too knowing.

Did Peter know everything? Stiles almost felt panic bloom in his chest before he pushed it down, shaking his head. The man was a bastardly mysterious little shit, but he wouldn't have been able to keep such a big secret under wraps.

 _Or..._

Stiles moved back to his desk, picking up one of the loose leaflets he'd been reading. The words on the page screamed back at him in the creeper wolf's writing.

 _Or he doesn't think mum passed it onto me..._ he realised, reading the information about how the gene was passed down the line. If one of the parents was human, there was less than a ten percent chance that the child was the same.

Peter didn't _know._

He suspected.

* * *

Stiles fought to keep the carefree smile on his face as he listened to his best friend, pushing back any residue fear or worry from the current situation to the back of his mind. The story the wolf was telling animatedly was hilarious – werewolf training always failed in some shape or form – and he focused on the bright smile and laughing voice.

"My god," Scott wheezed. "You should've seen the look he sent us all, man, he was so pissed."

Stiles laughed obediently, carefully taking the next corner and pulling into the school. "Derek always looks pissed," he reminded the other boy, putting the jeep in park. "So I don't know why you're so surprised."

Scott tried to explain through his giggles. "But it was like a mix of butt hurt and pissed," he gushed, shaking his head as he fell from the car. "It was almost like he was hurt that we were laughing at him, but was trying to hide it under his usual brooding look."

Smiling, Stiles led the laughing boy into the building, hiking his bag up on his shoulder. It took a while for Scott to stop smiling and laughing at whatever image he'd conjured in his head, and Stiles idly wished he was allowed at the trainings. He was considered the only human member in the pack – Allison was a hunter apparently, and they were their own kind – and didn't need to learn how to defend himself because if things got dangerous, they'd send him away

But, he apparently missed a lot of pack bonding by keeping up his little charade.

"Sounds like I should've stayed with you guys longer instead of going back home," Stiles wrinkled his nose, stopping at his locker. "I regret missing that."

Scott waited patiently for the human to stock his bag up with the books he needed. "You know Derek would've been extra pissy if you were there – I swear he hates training when you're around."

 _Ouch._

"I feel like he just hates living if I'm around," Stiles muttered, good mood slowly dissipating.

Instantly the werewolf shook his head. "No, I think..." Scott chewed over his words. "He hates appearing weak in front of you. When we train he has to try and let us win so we know how to fight better, but the last time you were there, he wouldn't go down. Maybe it's some wolf thing?"

Stiles cocked a brow. "How is trying to be manly a wolf thing?"

"Nah, like, maybe it's some instinct?" Scott tried. "Like, his wolf or whatever doesn't want to appear weak in front of the human so the human knows the wolf can protect him?"

Hesitating as he slammed his locker, Stiles gawked at his best friend. "That actually makes sense," he gushed, punching the boys shoulder with a smile. "Good on you for being smart."

Scott beamed at the compliment, leading them next to his own locker which was only a few feet away. "Believe or not, I can study on those study dates with Allison," he pointed out, giving his friend a hard look. "Don't argue," he warned carefully, opening his locker and trading books.

"Wasn't going too," Stiles quipped innocently.

The warning bell rang, and with a well placed elbow, Stiles directed his friend towards their first class. As they were wandering down the hall, another story falling from Scott's lips, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Pulling it out, Stiles frowned.

 _ **From – Sourwolf**_ _  
How are you feeling?_

The teacher lifted a brow at the phone, and with a smile, Stiles moved towards his seat, hiding his phone under the desk. His fingers hurried to type out a return message before the final bell went, wanting to avoid giving the teacher a reason to take it.

 _ **To – Sourwolf**_ _  
I'm fine?_

He didn't receive a reply until half way through their lesson, when the teacher was droning on about the previous week's homework. Ignoring his best friend's panic – of course Scott didn't do it – he pulled out his phone again, checking it under the table and once again feeling confused at the words.

 _ **From – Sourwolf**_ _  
Did you and your father talk when you got home?_

His eyes narrowed. Since when did the alpha of his little pack care? About him in particular...

 _ **To – Sourwolf**_ _  
More or less..._

The teacher started wandering down the desks, and he practically threw his phone back into his pocket, nodding when she passed him. His pen was back in his hand, but it wasn't writing notes, instead tapping insistently against the desk or drawing llamas in the margins of his paper.

When the bell went, he hurried to pack up, smiling when his friend let out a groan. "Dude, you didn't even tell me we had homework," Scott complained, nudging the other boy in discontent.

Stiles grinned. "Whoops..."

"You're a prick."

He only nodded happily. "I know," he sighed. "Keeps me up at night."

With another locker round, they headed towards their next class, this one as dull as the last but basically the same as their first. Scott squawked in outrage at finding out there was homework he wasn't told about – _I told you three times, man_ – and his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Unlike the last class though, he didn't check the message until break.

"Dude, you were checking your phone in history..." Scott realised, narrowing his eyes when the boy pulled out his phone again. "Is someone texting you? And why?"

Stiles snorted. "Jealous much?" he countered teasingly, rolling his shoulders. "It's uh, Derek? And he's asking if everything's okay with dad?"

"That sounded like a question," Scott pointed out, leading his friend out to the field.

Whiskey eyes were clouded in confusion. "Listen to this; _If you and your dad fight again maybe we need to discuss telling him everything,"_ he read from his phone. "Derek was completely against my dad finding out, why does he care now? Shit do you think he's sick or someone's cast a spell on him or something..?"

Scott immediately looked guilty; his eyes lowering to the ground and a hand coming up to card through his hair.

Stiles groaned loudly. "Oh dude, what did you do?"

"I just told them how tense it is between you and your dad," he whined, already looking for forgiveness. "You've both been at each other's throats lately and I know it's harder for you since he doesn't know like my mum does. After you left, we all got a little worried cause you looked really shaken up about it and we discussed the possibility of telling him. It hasn't really been decided yet; Derek wants to wait to see if things get better or worse."

Stiles hesitated, looking down at the message as the words rolled through his mind. This would be the first step he needed. He could allow the pack to think he was telling his dad, or flat out tell them he already knew. He could tell them that his father knew when they moved here – he could tell them about his mother. About him.

 _ **To – Sourwolf  
**_ _Don't worry about it man, its okay. I get that its need to know, and it might be too much of a risk._

Or he could be a coward.

Stiles sighed, smiling over at the other boy as he dropped his bag on the bleachers. "Thanks man, really, but I don't know if I wanna drag him into this," he lied through his teeth.

Scott either didn't catch the flutter in his heart beat or didn't care.

"It's okay, it was only a possibility anyway," Scott shrugged, yawning loudly. "Man, I feel like I barely slept last night. I know this collector jerk isn't after us but... like he's after someone that most likely goes to this school, you know? I don't like thinking about it."

Stiles bristled at the subject he'd actively been trying to avoid. "Yeah..."

Catching the tone of voice, Scott turned. "Hey man, what's up?" he asked gently, frowning at downcast whiskey eyes. "Come on, you can tell me, I'm your best friend."

Stiles stared at the other boy for a few seconds, nodding slowly. "I think we should try and get this hunter out of town," he announced dryly, not bothering to sugar coat the words or sneak them into a conversation. He needed to be honest with his pack for once. "Scare him away or something."

"Why?" Scott questioned, shrugging his shoulders. "He's not going to bother us, remember?"

Shaking his head, Stiles frowned. "It's not that – I get that by leaving him alone, you're saving your pack or whatever but..." he ground his teeth together somewhat harshly. "You were right before, we could go to school with this person; sit next to them in class. What if, after he leaves we notice someone missing, you know? An empty desk or empty locker all because we wanted to save our own asses. If they were in our pack, you'd all care."

Scott licked his lips, apparently understanding. "Well yeah, but why didn't they, I don't know, reveal themselves when the pack formed then? They have the same senses as us right? Couldn't they tell we're a pack of werewolves from how we smell or whatever?"

"Well, couldn't you tell they're a werefox?" Stiles countered quickly, absently worrying that the scent of his heritage was noticeable. "How would you hide that? Wouldn't _they_ have a smell?" he listed.

A quiet voice in his mind pointed out that if he pushed his friend towards the truth, it saved him from having to tell it.

Scott nodded. "Yeah, but Peter said they can hide that easily," he pointed out, pursing his lips. "Overpowering body washes and shampoos, deodorant, even medication can hide it!"

 _Like Adderall..._

"It still doesn't explain why they never outed themselves," Scott continued, not seeing the conflict in amber eyes.

Stiles played with his shirt awkwardly. "Maybe they were scared?" he offered quietly. "Derek isn't exactly inviting, and it all happened rather fast... One second you would've smelt human, then suddenly wolf and then all the deaths happened and maybe they didn't know how to tell you?"

Sending his best friend a quizzical look, Scott chuckled. "You've really thought about this haven't you?"

 _More than you know Scotty..._

When the boy didn't answer, Scott sighed. "I kinda get where you're coming from, and after your little speech last night, the pack is re-thinking things but..." he looked apologetic. "Personally, I vote we should leave him to it. I know it's cruel to basically hand someone over to him, but as long as he doesn't go after my wolves, I don't care, you know?"

Stiles felt something inside his chest crack. "Your wolves..." he whispered back, nodding. "Yeah, I get you."

* * *

After the depressing conversation with the person he used to class as his best friend, Stiles' day only went from bad to worse. Once the final bell had rung, both him and Scott had wandered back to the front of the school, the silence between them unusually tense.

Waiting outside was an even tenser one.

Stiles shifted closer to the wolf. "Hey, who's the guy waiting with Derek?" he asked softly, realising the whole pack was practically crowded around his jeep. "And why are they by my baby?"

Scott didn't answer but his jaw ticked as they got closer, the strange man beaming in the direction of the apparent human member. As they reached the group, the hairs on the back of Stiles' neck stood on end, warning him to get far, far away before –

"You must be Stiles Stilinski?"

The man addressed him with the same bright smile, his voice chipper and demeanour friendly. Awkwardly, Stiles lifted a hand in response. "Yeah, that's me," he chuckled nervously.

The man was blonde, and practically the perfect image of the boy next door. "I don't believe we've met," he gushed, holding out a hand. His smile turned blinding when the teenager hesitantly took his hand. "You weren't there when your pack decided to meet me, were you? I think I would've remembered a face like yours."

Stiles felt a hot blush slam onto his cheeks. "Uh, I'm sorry?" he squeaked, dropping the man's hand.

"Sorry," he beamed again. "I didn't introduce myself, did I? How rude. I'm the Collector."

At the words the blush on his cheeks dissipated as fast as it had come, leaving him looking almost sickly. At his side, the hand he'd previously shook with was tingling almost painfully, reminding him he had touched the other male. The other male that was not only hitting on him, but planning on skinning him in the near future.

His life was starting to reach new levels of fucked-upness.

"You're..." his voice gave out on him, and he took a small step back. "Oh." He could feel eyes on him, and tried to smile reassuringly at the suddenly frowning alpha of their pack. Derek didn't buy it and his frown deepened, eyebrows lowering over reddening eyes.

 _Calm your heart down Stiles; everyone's looking at you because you're panicking. They smell fear and hear a rabbit like heartbeat – you're practically screaming out every signal of being prey... Snap out of it!_

Stiles forced a smile on his lips. "Nice to meet you, I guess?" he chuckled, rubbing his hands on his pants. His palms were sweating. "I mean, not really _nice_ since you're going to brutally murder someone, but yeah..."

The man quirked a brow. "Brutally murder?" he echoed, turning to look at the now disapproving alpha.

Derek grunted. "Forget about him," he commanded lowly, meeting the curious gaze head on. "Stiles never did know when to keep his mouth shut."

Stiles stopped smiling.

"I wasn't planning on forgetting about him," the man purred, his gaze making the teenager uncomfortable. "If you want to say anything, please don't hesitate too. I already have a deal with your pack; a few harsh words won't change my mind."

The urge to call him creepy was hard to resist, but Stiles only forced the smile back. "Nah, I'm good thanks," he waved sarcastically, pointedly refusing to meet red eyes. "But uh, if you don't mind I have a load of homework to do and you're all kinda crushing my car here..."

The hunter tuttered. "My apologies, but I wanted to meet you," he nodded. "Chris told me this was your car; she's got character I have to say. But, you're not the only reason I'm here," he added, turning to grin at the quietly growling alpha. "Thought you would want to know that I've narrowed it down a little – the fox does go to this school."

"Oh great, so you're not only brutally murdering an innocent, but it's a class mate," Stiles commented sarcastically, smiling when the man looked his way again. He knew the words weren't helping but as he'd stated on multiple occasions – such comments were his only defence.

The man blinked slowly, looking him up and down. "What makes you think it's innocent."

"What makes you think he isn't?" Stiles retorted quickly.

Previously friendly blue eyes took on a hint of ice. "He?" the hunter repeated, taking a step forward. The whole pack surged at the action, quiet growls echoing through the air. The older male didn't seem concern and instead moved even closer, getting far into the teenagers personal space. "Is there something you're not telling me Stiles?"

Stiles blinked back any fear, wrinkling his nose when a metallic scent filled it. "Is there anything you can do to make me tell you?" he answered slowly, resisting the urge to grin somewhat ferally. There were alarm bells ringing in his head but the fox was angry, more of its animalistic mannerisms being reflected in his movements and words. "On that topic, if I did know something, why the hell would I spill my guts to you?"

"Because I know a lot of ways of making people talk."

Stiles pursed his lips, internally smiling when his pack continued to growl at the threat. "Isn't it against your rules to torture humans?" he questioned innocently.

He needed to leave now.

The hunter studied him, jaw working. "If they were hiding a monster under their skirts, they're free game," he rumbled, eyes flickering to the pack as one got too close to his bared back.

"Speaking about your rules – I thought you could only kill a supernatural if they've proven to be a threat. This little fox of yours hasn't raised its head," he continued, hand slipping into his pocket. He was tempted to ring his father and let the man hear the conversation but the wolves would hear him ring, and wonder why the man wasn't panicking about the apparent physco who believed in werewolves.

" _Stiles, shut up."_

Amber eyes flitted over to the alpha, and the angered expression on his features made the fox bow its head and back away. Stiles took a step back and sighed through his nose, not bothering to reply as panic brimmed in his chest.

Scratch what he'd said before – he needed to leave yesterday.

"Derek, your pack isn't hiding any information from me, is it?" the Collector droned tiredly, keeping his eyes on the dark haired teenager. "Because that would be against our agreement."

The werewolf gnashed his teeth together. "We're not hiding anything, as I said before, Stiles doesn't know when to _shut up,"_ he growled darkly, his eyes showing how pissed he was at the human for speaking out. The look in his eyes promised a world of pain for the teenager next time he had him alone. "I've been looking out, but there's no sign of your werefox. Now that we know they're a student, we'll help you look."

"You'd be doing me a favour," the hunter nodded, still suspiciously staring into whiskey eyes. "The faster I get it, the faster I'll be out of your hair. Have a pleasant evening."

The man strode away, heading towards the road where his car was no doubt parked. The pack was silent as they watched him go, but even if they spoke, Stiles doubted he'd be able to hear them over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Without waiting for his reprimand, he stormed to his car and unlock it, throwing the door open before slamming it behind him.

"Stiles," Derek growled out, moving towards the door. The car was on before he could reach for the handle, and the door was locked when he tugged on it. "Stiles open the door."

The boy ignored him, instead throwing the car into reverse and tearing out of the parking lot without a second glance.

* * *

 **I'm really packing in the action, aren't I? Damn, this story needs to take a breather... Jokes, trust me it won't be. No emotional comfort for you guys at all in this story! I like to torture my readers...**

 **Thank you too;** _ **TooLazyToSignIn, ValeriusNZ, livelygirl2012, Kuon, xaveriix, fadingshadowss, Mangy**_ **and** _ **Coley**_ **for your reviews. I love reading them, and they really make my day!**

 **Taila xx**


	6. Heartbreak Untold

He wasn't having another panic attack.

Nope.

The world was only darkening around the edges and turning blurry because he didn't sleep the night before. He was tired – not frightened beyond belief and struggling to keep back tears for the second time that week.

He slammed on the brakes once he hit his driveway, breath coming in short pants as he struggled to open his seat belt. The pressure on his chest was too much and he whimpered when the lock finally opened, leaning forward to enjoy the lack of restraint. His hands were attacking his phone, but the cruiser in the driveway stopped him short.

It was okay – his dad was home.

Stiles locked the car door and hurried inside, grinding his teeth together in an effort to hold back the sobs threatening his composure. The door was opened before he reached it, his father apparently ready to leave for the night shift, and he practically fell into the older man's arms.

"Stiles?" he stammered, shock to be holding an armful of teenager. "Jesus, son what the hell happened?"

Stiles shook his head, sobbing into his father's chest and clutching onto handfuls of his uniform. Thankfully the near panic attack was ebbing away but leaving heart wrenching fear in his place, forcing more tears from his eyes.

"Come on, inside," John instructed, leading his son further into the house. Lowering himself onto the couch, he took the boy with him, the sounds of sobs tugging on his heart strings. "Stiles, I need you to calm down and tell me what's wrong, okay?"

Stiles blinked rapidly, forcing himself to calm down. "H-he was there," he stuttered, hands shaking and form quivering. "The hunter, he came to the school and said he knows that the fox attends it..." he revealed, burying his face back into the scratchy uniform. "I was a s-stupid idiot, didn't shut my mouth and now he's p-probably suspicious."

John remained silent for a few seconds. "He came to the school?" he questioned, and when the shaking boy nodded, he continued. "The hunter came to the school and threatened you?"

"Y-yeah," Stiles whispered, looking up in confusion, and taking back a hand to wipe his nose.

The older male's eyes took on an unknown emotion. "But you didn't tell them did you?" he demanded, his jaw working as he grinded his teeth. At the chest fallen look his son gave him, he made a low noise of frustration. "So, now you've met him first hand, seen him, and judging by this reaction, you're scared? You're scared you're not going to make it to graduation and that this man is going to get you?"

The man was acting strangely cruel, and Stiles frowned but didn't answer, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

John's eyes flickered outside. "So, even now, you _still_ haven't told the pack everything I know, or that you're hiding something that could change what's happening now?"

"D-dad, what are you – "

"I tried to let you do it by choice," John sighed, the fight slipping from his eyes and being replaced with guilt. "I gave you the option to step up yourself, but I _refuse_ to lose you because you're stubborn, do you hear me?" He detangled himself from the younger male and stood, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his clothing and straightening his shirt. "I need to go to work, and I won't be back until late – make sure you eat something," he commanded, striding to the door.

What the hell was he talking about? A choice? An option? _Food?_

"Dad, I don't understand?" he sniffed, stumbling to his feet and following after him. The man was spinning riddles and fables, and his fear addled mind wasn't able to make sense of any of it. He was scared and he wanted his father, not the law abiding man before him. "What do you mean you tried to let me do it by _choice?"_

John stopped and smiled weakly. "I tried to let you tell them on your own," he confessed. "Remember I gave you that choice. You're the one who didn't take it." Having said that, and having apparently offered his son all the comfort he could; he opened the door.

And for the second time that day, Stiles felt his heart fall to his stomach.

Derek stood on the other side of the door, his features slack and confused. One of his hands were poised to knock, the other shoved in his jacket, but it slowly fell back to his side, eyes flickering between the father and son.

"Hello," John greeted, standing to the side. "I suppose you want to speak with Stiles?"

Stiles realised why his father had stiffened and looked out the window, heart hammering. "You knew he was there," he whispered, betrayal painting his features. "You knew he was there but you..."

"Don't make me repeat myself," John shook his head, looking to both men with a meek smile. "I tried to push you into telling them yourself, but you thought you could handle all of this on your own. I am not losing my son, my baby boy because he's too scared to tell the truth or to stubborn to understand that this is the answer."

"Sherriff Stilinski?" Derek's voice held confusion and barely contained anger.

John ignored him somewhat. "When I said I wouldn't help you Stiles, it's because I couldn't not because I didn't want too. You know I can't get involved in all of this, but I hoped that by saying I _wouldn't_ , you would swallow your pride and seek help from your pack."

Stiles swallowed back another bout of tears, his eyes hardening.

John saw it happen, saw his son hide behind a cold wall of indifference. "I'll see you after work, son," he murmured, nodding to the pack alpha as he wandered towards his cruiser. "If you wanna see me..." The quiet words were only heard by the werewolf, but Derek didn't so much as flinch as the scent of sadness washed over him.

He was too focused on the guilty and fearful boy shuffling before him.

Stiles watched as the car pulled away and felt numb when the wolf slammed the door behind him. Red eyes were filling his vision before he could blink, his form colliding with the closest wall and back bruising from the contact. He blinked away any shock and simply stared back, absently healing the purple marks on his back before they could take shape.

"What did you do?"

He couldn't help the laughter, he tried, but he couldn't smother it. "What _didn't_ I do?" he countered sharply, meeting red eyes with a sober smile.

Derek growled. "How does the sheriff know about us?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Stiles muttered, his heart remaining steady as he spoke the truth. His hands lifted to grip at the pair holding his collar, and he tugged lightly, hoping to ease the pressure on his chest.

Derek only pressed against him harder. "How long?" he demanded. "How long have you been hiding this _something_ from the pack? And how long has he known?"

Whiskey eyes were slowly dulling, losing their usual spark. "He's always known," Stiles replied cryptically, not bothering to elaborate. "And hiding what?"

The innocent act didn't work very well. "Damn it Stiles, what aren't you telling us?" Derek snarled, pulling the boy back from the wall only to throw him back against it. He was half hoping that pain would be a good incentive, but the boy didn't even wince with the action. "Stiles, tell me."

"I wasn't telling you that my dad was in on it," he commented, shrugging his shoulders. "That's all okay? I told him as soon as I knew what was happening, and I've told him everything since then. And before you even think about threatening him for silence, he hasn't said anything yet has he?"

Derek stared for a few seconds, red eyes searching emotionless features. "You're lying to me."

Stiles felt his eyebrows lift higher, slightly shocked the man had even cared enough to notice whether he was telling the truth or not. He forced back the mild surprise and instead smiled. "Am I?"

Derek was refusing to admit it, even to himself, but the fact that the kid was lying to him _hurt_. He'd told the pack anything if they asked, only showing slight resistance if the topic was sensitive, but the boy before him was hiding something big from them. The boy who usually spilled anything without prompting was hiding something.

It was almost ironic.

"What is it Stiles?" he asked softer, trying a different approach. "And why are you so scared to tell me?"

Something flashed in the teenager's eyes before it disappeared. "I already told you."

Derek's eyes slipped closed, refusing to snap again. "No, you haven't, you've danced around the subject but you've actually told me nothing," he murmured. "Stiles, please just tell me what's wrong."

Stiles didn't answer.

Like a puzzle, the pieces clicked in his mind. "It has something to do with werefox doesn't it?" he realised. "Is that why you're being so damned passionate about this? Do you know the person?"

"The reason I'm so passionate about it, _Derek_ is because you're throwing an innocent person to the dogs," Stiles corrected in a small voice. He appeared small and defeated, but the fire in his eyes was back with a vengeance. "Someone who probably deserves our protection."

Derek released the boy and backed away. "You're disappointed in us, aren't you?"

Stiles seemed uncomfortable with the question. "Somewhat," he answered shortly. "Yes and no, I guess. Listen, could you leave? I need to do some homework and I want some time to think..."

"Stiles... Damn it, tell the truth or – "

The shove that came sent the werewolf back only because he was shocked at the strength behind the attempt. The teenager's chest was heaving with laboured breaths and the words that spilt from his lips seemed to come out without permission. "I'm scared okay!" he cried. "Look how quickly you sold out this damned werefox that everyone suddenly wants... what's to stop you next time? Scott said it himself, if it's not one of his wolves, he doesn't care!"

Derek's brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Stiles started pacing, feet tearing across the carpet. "What if the next person to come along, the next big baddie is after someone who matters – just not to you?" he demanded. "You remember that omega? The one you just killed? She knew who I was; she knew that I was the human in the _Hale pack!_ What if someone else does? What if the next hunter to roll into town wants to hurt me?"

"Stiles, she didn't know – "

"Yes, she did," Stiles cut in sharply. "You know I ran into her before you got to me, I just didn't tell you what she said. And if she, some low pack-less omega knew who I was, someone else is bound too."

Derek stilled, watching the youth pant and eyeing the sweat gathering in the hollow of his throat. "We wouldn't let them hurt you," he promised simply, believing the words were enough. "You know that."

"Do I?" Stiles asked, jerking to a stop and staring. "I'm not one of your _wolves_ Derek."

"No," Derek allowed. "But you're a member of my pack, aren't you?" he arched a brow, waiting for the affirmative. When he didn't get an answer, his eyebrow fell and furrowed yet again. "Aren't you?"

Stiles blinked back at him, chest finally stopping its rushed and harsh movements but he didn't answer. His lips remained closed and with every silent second that passed the alpha felt his chest tighten in either fear or sadness, he didn't know. Derek straightened up, forcing his spine into a solid line and his lips into a harsh frown.

"Fine," he growled. "Have it your way."

Stiles watched him storm away, hands leaving four identical claw marks in the door as he slammed it shut behind him. His stomach was rolling uncomfortably, breath coming in shuttered gasps and his head beginning to ache the longer he stared at the closed door.

Derek had come to either check up on him, or tear his head from his body.

Derek knew he was hiding something.

Derek.

Derek.

Derek.

Reaching out, Stiles slammed his hand into the wall beside his head, yelling out as he did so. He felt the bones throughout his fingers and wrist crack, he felt the pain arc through his arm but he only pulled back his fist and did it again. Drawing his hand against his body, he examined the damage before snorting and letting his body heal it, face resting against the cool surface of the wall in front of him.

Somehow he wasn't shocked at what had happened. He knew that one day it was going to blow up in his face, but he'd been ignorant on purpose and pushed the fear to the side. He'd thought that his secret was safe.

Stiles couldn't even find it in his heart to be mad at his dad for what he'd done, because a voice was telling him that the man had done the right thing. If his father hadn't outed him like that, he would've been stuck in an endless circle of lies and fake smiles and withered away.

He'd already started distancing himself from the others, cutting down the time he spent with them until it was weekly instead of daily. He'd tried to limit the amount of times he crashed with them, watching movies and ordering out pizza after a late night of research. He'd tried to say no when the pack needed him in the middle of the night...

 _You know I ran into her before you got to me, I just didn't tell you what she said._

Stiles pulled back from the wall, wiping his healing hand over his face with only a small snarl of pain. His fear had really harrowed into his bones then, he supposed, when the female werewolf had smiled widely and exclaimed that she knew who he was. He hadn't expected to be known by most people at his school, let alone a random creature that passed through the town.

Taking a few steps back, he fell onto the couch, bringing up the memory.

* * *

 _He didn't bother staying quiet as he stomped through the house, throwing a shirt over his chest and shoes on his feet. It was too early to be dealing with pack shit, but if they needed him, they needed him and he wasn't going to argue with a tired sourwolf at three o'clock in the morning._

 _He didn't have a death wish._

 _Stiles grabbed his car keys and hurried to leave the residential area of Beacon Hills, hurrying towards the preserve and woodland part instead. He'd only been told that that night's patrol had stumbled across the wolf that had been causing them trouble, and he needed to get out to the old house as soon as he could. Derek would meet him there, and together they'd try and herd her either out of town or into a trap._

 _Didn't sound like the world's best plan, but once again, he wasn't going to argue with a tired sourwolf if he could help it._

 _He arrived sooner than he thought he would, and the area was relatively sourwolf free as he parked the car. "Derek?" he called, clambering out of the car and zipping up his jacket. "Dude come on, I'm freezing."_

 _A few branches cracked and he started back, swallowing any fear that lingered in his throat. He half expected Derek to pounce at him from the trees, eyes hard but vaguely amused at the human's jumpiness. It was how the alpha entertained himself apparently; scaring travellers and teenage boys alike._

 _Stiles sighed when nothing happened, and the wind continued to whistle. "Seriously?" he muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Stop playing hide and go seek, because I'm a quitter and I_ _ **will**_ _go home."_

" _If it isn't the infamous human..."_

 _Stiles spun sharply, almost falling over in his attempt to face the new voice. The omega was grinning at him from beside the house, her lips split widely and posture relaxed as she studied him. "Infamous what now?"_

 _She grinned wider. "Oh, I said human," she cooed, wrinkling her nose. "The infamous human of the Hale pack."_

 _Stiles looked around nervously, hoping that his alpha wasn't far as the woman stalked closer. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes. He debated playing dumb, but with one look in her eyes, he realised she wouldn't fall for it. "How do you know who I am?"_

 _She snorted. "How could I_ _ **not**_ _know who you are?" she rolled her eyes in amusement, taking another step forward. "You're the boy who runs with wolves, aren't you? Red riding hood," she continued, gesturing to his hoodie with sparkling eyes. The bright golden colour was terrifying but the teenager steeled himself as she came even closer, her head cocked curiosly._

" _That's hilarious," Stiles commented dryly, looking down at the red hoodie covering his torso. "Cause my jacket's red. Ever thought about going into comedy?"_

 _The amusement on her features faltered, eyes snapping to the woods near his now parked car. Distress flashed across her face before she hid it, looking back to the boy in front of her. "I might take you up on that," she murmured carefully, backing away. "I would love to stay and chat really; I'm as interested in you as the next guy but that Hale boy is coming."_

 _Having said that she turned and bolted into the woods, leaving a slightly shell-shocked Stiles behind to gape at where she'd been standing. What the hell did she mean by_ _ **as the next guy?**_ _And how in the world did she even know who he was? To the world he was a petty and useless human, not exactly worth mentioning._

" _Red riding hood..." he parroted dumbly, shaking away his confusion. "Do I look like a helpless girl to you?"_

" _Yes."_

 _Stiles yelped and turned, catching the fleeting amusement on the alpha's features. "You're not funny," he grumbled, both hands lifting to fold against his chest._

 _Derek almost looked like he wanted to grin back, his lips twitching. "Who were you talking too?" he asked, storming closer and gesturing for the boy to follow him into the woods. He hesitated though, when the stench of the female wolf reached his nose. "You were talking to the omega?"_

" _Well, she was more talking to me?" Stiles corrected in confusion, both his brows coming towards each other. "I don't even get what the hell she was going on about..."_

 _Derek frowned and bent slightly, the muscles in his chest rippling as he lightly touched the ground where she'd been standing. "Doesn't matter," he brushed aside, frowning in the direction of the woods. "We need to corner her. Peter and Jackson are waiting on the north side of the preserve."_

 _Stiles sniggered, tearing his eyes away from the perfect form and chest. "Heh, Peter Jackson."_

 _Derek rolled his eyes and started walking, leaving the boy to hurry after him._

* * *

She'd not only said she knew who he was, but that others did as well. That others were interested in the boy who ran with wolves, and wore the apparently infamous red hoodie.

Somewhere in the back of his thoughts, the fox was whimpering and scratching at the doors of his mind, begging to be let out and free to run away from everything even if it was only for a few minutes. He shook his head, leaning back against the couch and speaking aloud instead of staying quiet.

"There's a hunter in town and you want to go for a run?" he questioned loudly.

Despite the fox and Stiles being a single entity, he swore the sneaky bastard back chatted. The instinct to open the door, strip down and allow the change to take over grew stronger as an answer.

"How about no?" he snapped grumpily, already standing and moving towards the back door. The woods looked inviting and his skin itched with the need to run. "Do you wanna get us killed?" he asked next, knowing that he was going outside before his hand even touched the door handle.

He was stalking into the words before he registered he was out the door.

"Damn it," he hissed, pulling his shirt over his head. "You're going to be the death of me," he declared, absently wondering why he was talking to himself and why he was stupid enough to run while being hunted. "You don't wanna run for months, but now when you know you can't, it's all you wanna do..."

His shirt was dropped somewhere by their ignored garden shed, pants soon following. Stiles continued to mutter curses and colourful insults under his breath as he finished stripping, eyes peeking around to make sure no one was watching the teenager remove his clothing in the backyard.

After double – okay triple – checking, Stiles rolled his shoulders and breathed lowly, opening the door of his mind and letting the fox come out fully. Admittedly the change was more painful than usual, a brief punishment for being ignored, but it was over before he had the time to register it.

Four paws hit the ground, and cheerful yip echoed in the silence.

* * *

 **Does this classify as a cliffhanger? I'm really hoping it does. This story needs much more of those in my opinion...**

 **Thank you for the reviews! I would love to thank each of you as I usually do, but this update is late as it is, so I better get to it. Next weekend should be better timing, usually I have it up by now and I apologize for it's lateness!**

 **Taila xx**


	7. Fate, Thou Art A Heartless Bitch

God it was good to run.

Admittedly with two legs, the notion was laughable but with four paws and a tail – it was all Stiles wanted to do. His long limbs ate up the distance between his house and whatever lay out in the forest surrounding it, nose twitching and tail high in the air as he ran. The scents were overpowering but they made him want to yell – or chirp loudly in his new form's case – out in sheer enjoyment. Skidding to a stop, he did just that, chittering and yipping as he nuzzled against the ground and snuffled through the wet leaves on the forest floor.

He hadn't run in months. He'd been watching his body's need to change, making sure it was when no one would need him and he had a good and decent excuse. If the pack needed him while he was out running, or worse yet, came to the house looking for him only to find a pile of discarded clothing and tuft of fur, he would've been in serious shit.

But now, nothing would stop Stiles from jumping back up and running until his lungs burnt and his paws ached.

 _Fuck, it smells heavenly out here..._ he tilted his head up, scenting the air before practically purring in happiness. It was a pleasant day, with only a lingering threat of rain, and it was more or less perfect.

But it seemed to be missing something...

" _Dammit!"_

A hiss left the fox's throat at the grunted curse, ears flat against thick fur from fright at the sudden appearance. There was more grumbling, clearly discontented and Stiles inched forward, wondering who the hell was in the woods around his home – swearing no less. When the sound of flesh hitting something solid echoed as well, he sat back in contemplation.

Who the hell was punching trees?

As though to answer him, a gust of wind flitted through the trees, bringing with it the heady scent of pine and something warm and perfect. Curious, Stiles couldn't help but wander even closer, something about the scent seeming incredibly and frustratingly familiar. Maybe it was someone he knew? But who the hell would be –

Derek. It was Derek. Of course, because _who else_ would punch innocent trees?

Stiles let out an inaudible snort, eyes gleaming through the bushel as he watched the leather clad back move about. The man was pacing, clearly agitated by the previous encounter, occasionally stopping to lash out and crush his hand against the nearest bark covered surface. His hand was mess of blood, even if the skin underneath it was healed and whole, but the sight was aching familiar to Stiles' own hand only ten minutes before.

Another growl sounded, Derek spinning on his heel. "Damn you Stiles," he muttered lowly, glaring in the direction of the house. "Why won't you trust me?"

Ouch.

Stiles shied back slightly, wincing at the hurt in the man's rough voice. He hadn't meant for it to come to this, he hadn't wanted the man to think he didn't trust him – especially not when Stiles trusted him with his life. Derek was his alpha, the man was literally all he had in some ways, and he treasured the glares and barked words no matter how harsh they were.

"If you won't tell me I'll figure it out myself," Derek warned quietly, entire body frighteningly still. "I won't let you hide from me."

The promise made a shudder go down the fox's spine, and without realising, he tucked his tail around his body and hunkered down. While the man was his alpha, he was also terrifying as hell – more so with the dark hair, leather jacket and red eyes.

Derek started forward again with a surge of movement, the next growl low and primal and all together something that would haunt his dreams when he settled down to sleep. Sadly the badass act was cut short when the dark haired man tripped on a root, his hands flailing as he struggled to right himself. Stiles was struggling to keep his cool when the man hissed and spun, bending to tear the tree root clean from the ground after snarling at it for a good three minutes.

 _Wow, what a man; you show that tree root who's boss._

As though he heard him, Derek spun, catching the unamused look the fox across the clearing was giving him. "What are you looking at?" he demanded, huffing as he turned away from the shell shocked creature.

Stiles on the other hand was already backing away, wondering how in the hell the man had actually... Wait, did Derek think he was a normal fox? Unsure if he was relieved or offended, he turned about to start running when the shocked exclamation of; _"Wait a minute, you!"_ echoed behind him.

Okay, Derek did recognize him. Abort mission. Abort!

He was sprinting as fast as he could when loud crashing through the undergrowth revealed that the werewolf had given chase, albeit a clumsy one. Derek was tripping over everything, lacking his usual grace as he lingered in confusion and shock over the events of the past hour. It wasn't hard to outrun him, funnily enough and soon the fox was coming to a stop, checking over his shoulder for red eyes and emotional issues.

 _That went well._

When nothing jumped out at him, Stiles trotted forward again, ears perked and curious as he sniffed and nibbled at anything within reach. He was elated again to be in the woods, but let down at the same time from the words and sight he'd just witnessed.

Was he hurting his pack with this secret?

A sound from ahead caught his attention and he started back, looking around with small whine. Half of him expected Derek to jump out and grab him, but the trees were quiet again and he relaxed slightly, moving towards the location of the loud bang. It had almost sounded like the crack of an axe on wood, and was most likely someone getting their firewood supply back up – not a werewolf sharpening his claws or filing his teeth.

Stiles lowered his body to the ground, eyes flashing their lupine gold as he crawled through the underbrush on his belly. The soft creamy colour of his stomach dirtied and became damp but he ignored it, instead poking his nose through the bushes ahead.

He had to be careful around other humans – some of them hunted foxes and some of them enjoyed his company, but the golden eyes nestled in his young features weren't natural. Most humans knew it. The vivid and molten colour was unnaturally bright and intelligent, and the last time he'd dare approach a human, it had been all they'd commented on.

Black paws peeked through the bushes, a dark copper muzzle following close behind. He was curious about who was making the noise – and admittedly kinda hungry, maybe they'd feed him? – but could only see a broad, and frankly delicious looking back.

 _Hah, I was right, chopping wood,_ he noted with a wolfish smile, bright eyes watching muscles ripple. It was a cheeky and maybe rude thing to do, but no one was going to know.

And as far as the hunk knew, the woodland creatures were curious.

After spearing a few more wooden logs with his axe, the man ran a hand through his hair, moving towards his house with no indication that he'd noticed the canine behind him. Stiles waited until the male was inside before creeping further out, almost jumping in fright when his reflection bounced back at him from the axes surface. Huffing, he sat on his haunches and finally decided to employ his sense of smell again, nose lifted –

Fuck.

Double fuck.

Stiles knew that smell.

 _Shit, go now, run. How the hell did you manage to find the stupid Coll –_

"I'm used to hunting animals, you know, not having them waltz onto my doorstep."

Stiles turned as the door opened again, the shirtless man wandering back out with a familiar sadistic smile on his features. Oh god, the hunk was the hunter. He felt his body freeze, shock taking over his mind as the man lifted both his arms.

"God, I was right," he purred, taking aim with the bow in his hands. "You're beautiful."

The sharp sound of the arrow releasing had Stiles skittering away; moving in time to miss what was meant to be a kill shot. He yelped loudly when the arrow lodged itself in his back leg, the pain radiating from the area enough to make a continuous whine leave his throat as he began to run.

He wasn't as fast as he could've been, what with the blood pouring from his leg and the thunderous footsteps of the hunter behind him was terrifying, but he didn't see hide nor hair of the man again. He could hear growls and snapping remarks, hear the occasional thunk of an arrow hitting wood, but he never saw flashing blue eyes or dirtied blonde hair. He wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse, to not know where death could come from.

The footsteps were quiet now, but Stiles didn't fall for the trick of safety, instead diving into the nearest hiding spot he could find. He tucked his leg under him, curling his tail around his body as he forced his body into the hollowed tree stump.

"Come on, you little shit..." the hunter's voice was loud, and he tucked himself further into his safe haven. "You should be taking this as a compliment, you furry fuck. I think you're stunning enough to hang on my wall, and know you're worth coming all the way out here and playing hide and go seek for."

Stiles cowered in fear and pain, bright eyes catching movement outside of his hidey hole. "I'm going through a lot of trouble for you foxy," he continued, torso still bare and hands still taunt on the bow. "I hate playing nice with the locals, but I can't have the fucking pack breathing down my neck when I'm trying to find you now can I? I'm doing it all for you, all to find you which is a mission in itself, I suppose."

The hunter sighed, lowering the bow as he scanned the area. "I know you're a student," he called. "I know you're male thanks to the sheriff's boy... How do you know him by the way? He seems rather protective of you, so what did you do to earn his loyalty I wonder?"

The man was walking forward, not sure if his prey was in the area, but still taunting and mocking nonetheless. Stiles waited, ears perked for every sound the man made. He was too nervous to dart out of his hiding spot immediately, something telling him another arrow was waiting for him, but he hesitantly climbed out after a few seconds, heart thudding quickly in his chest.

If he strained his ears he could hear the hunter taunting him a few hundred feet away and sighed in relief, hurrying to leave the woods in the opposite direction the man was in.

 _Pain. Pain. Pain. Oh look, more pain._

Some of him wanted to go home, a small section of his mind that begged for the familiar smell of his dad and his bed, but a larger part wanted someone else. A larger part was begging for brooding eyebrows and a stern glare. Stiles didn't even question it – hell, he'd been happy when _Peter_ had touched his shoulder the other day – and instead gave in, limping towards the loft and the alpha his fox was striving to please.

It took too long to find his way to the building, and every step was an agony he never wanted to feel again, but eventually the white washed warehouse was in sight. His chest loosened in relief and he quickened his pace, digging at the bottom of the door until it opened under his persistence.

 _Oh stairs..._ he stared at his new less favourite item in the world, then turned to stare at the arrow wobbling in his leg. _Ah fate, thou art a heartless bitch_

He had to climb.

Whimpering with every lift and jolt of his back leg, Stiles dragged himself up the stairs, hating them more than he ever did when climbing them before. Usually his heart tugged in his chest from exhaustion, but now it screamed in pain with every step and he couldn't help but shrink with the movements.

 _A little further... Stiles, you're almost there, just a little further..._

If he'd thought that the run to the loft was bad enough, the climb to the actual door was hell. And sadly, there were more than seven levels to it.

"No offence to anyone here, but why do I feel like I spend more time in this shitty apartment than I do at my own house?" Lydia's voice echoed from inside the room, her heart beat steady and strong behind it.

The screaming yell of _pack_ and _safe_ in his mind had the whimpers dying away.

"Well, when all this crap with the hunter is over with, you can leave my shitty apartment and go back to the rich life," Derek snarled back, the deeper timbre vibrating through the cowering body outside his front door. "I hate to tear you away from decent company."

The door was slightly open, enough so that a crack of light was peering through as though someone had just been too damned lazy to close it that remaining inch. Stiles had never been more thankful in his life – that was until he tried to move the heavy set door with his tired body.

 _Shit cakes._

Reverting back to the same way he got in before, he began to dig at the bottom of the metal, hoping that even if it didn't open, someone would come check out what was making the racket. It took a few seconds for anyone to note the sound, and soon a disgusted voice came from inside the apartment.

"Nephew, do I hear mice?"

Stiles yipped lightly, going back to his digging and hoping the familiar voice would creep closer – _heh creep, get it, cause it's Peter?_ – and soon enough, his wish came true again. Footsteps were approaching, the smell of expensive aftershave wafting through the crack in the door.

"Is it coming from the door?" Scott asked innocently, his sentence cut off by a yawn. "Why the hell is a rat trying to get in here? Wouldn't it take one whiff of us and hightail it?"

The door opened rapidly, as though Peter was trying to scare what was on the other side with the suddenness. "Oh," he chimed curiously, staring down into bright golden eyes. "That's interesting."

"What's interesting Peter?" Derek snapped again. "Do we have a rat problem or not?"

Stiles didn't flinch when the older beta reached down and scooped him up, only growling softly when he jolted the arrow in his leg. Peter made a soft, almost scolding noise back as if reprimanding him for growling in the first place. "Not a rat problem," he replied easily, turning around and revealing the weight in his arms. "A stray problem."

"Is that a fox?"

"Oh that's so cute!"

"Holy shit, is that an arrow?"

Peter moved further into the room, lightly bouncing the whimpering bundle in his hands. "It's an arrow alright," he mused with his usual smooth voice, apparently attempting to calm the fox by talking softly. "Allison, do you recognize this at all?"

The female wandered closer, still cooing over the adorable animal before her eyes fell on the arrow. Deep brown eyes widened a fraction, shooting back to the fox with an almost accusatory glint. "That's the symbol that collector guy had on his necklace..." she murmured in realisation, blinking down at the animal. "You're the werefox he's after, aren't you?"

Peter's grip went from comforting to confining.

 _Ow, Peter, arrow remember you stupid twit,_ Stiles hissed as pain bloomed bright, his mouth opening to close around the nearest flesh. He nipped at the older man as a way of scolding, relaxing when the grip slackened in shock.

He didn't get to enjoy the lax grip for very long, because a pair of rough hands was vaulting him up into the air. He yelped and squirmed, only freezing when the familiar and commanding growl of an alpha wolf sounded. Stiles stopped immediately, tiny chest moving with panting breaths as he met red eyes.

 _Derek!_

The werewolf was wearing an extremely pissed expression, his features tight and pinched. "You're the werefox the crazy bastard wants," he grunted lowly, still holding the creature high in the air.

Annoyingly, Stiles noted that none of the man's fingers were within biting range. _Darn._

"Uh, Derek I think you're hurting it," Scott muttered, one hand lifted like he wanted to stop the man. He withered when the red eyed glare was sent his way, looking down to the floor with a quick swallow. "Shouldn't we get the arrow out before you question it?" he offered next, voice holding a tone of submission and suggestion instead of demand.

Peter snorted. "Question it? It's a fox, hows it going to answer?"

Derek growled again, forcing the room back into silence. In his hands, the tiny kit seemed quite content, despite the pressure the position was putting on his wounds and the alpha stared it down, bristling at the familiar spark hidden in golden eyes. "He's right," Derek muttered darkly, lowering the body a little. His arms were beginning to hurt, so what?

"Who?" Scott asked quietly, taking a few steps backwards. He was hovering in the archway that separated the living area and the kitchen, eyes flickering between the endless cupboards and the snarling wolf. "Me or Peter?"

Derek was almost cradling the fox against his body now, the quivering form pressed against his shirt. "Both – Scott, get the first aid kit, we need to get the arrow out and you," he looked down into golden eyes. "You're going to keep those little teeth of yours to yourself aren't you? Or we're going to have a problem."

Stiles didn't respond, instead nuzzling into the warmth offered by the nearby body. Derek almost wanted to toss the small body on the couch, just to say it didn't have the right to use him as comfort, but the blood oozing onto his fingers stopped him. Along with something else admittedly...

 _The reason I'm so passionate about it_ _ **Derek,**_ _is because you're throwing an innocent person to the dogs. Someone who probably deserves our protection._

"Allison, does this guy use any poisons?" Derek asked carefully, moving to lower his load onto the table. He ignored the truly pitiful whimper that reached his ears, refusing to allow the sound to influence his actions. "Or barbing on arrows? I wanna know that if I take this out, I'm not going to damage him further," he tried to explain when the huntress looked at him in confusion.

The skilled human shuffled forward, leaning around the larger body to study the arrow. "It looks standard grade," she commented, nodding slowly. "It should be safe..."

Derek nodded as one of his betas ran into the room, supernatural first aid kit in hand. "Here," Scott breathed out, thrusting the bag in his direction. At the man's cocked brow, he smiled sheepishly and went to open it himself, pulling out some gauze and a cleaning agent. He held the items in his hands nervously, wincing in time with the small kits breathing. "He's so tiny..."

A feminine voice joined in. "He's gorgeous," Erica practically cooed, moving closer. Manicured nails came out to scratch between his ears, and the usually tough as nails blonde practically melted when the animal chittered in response.

"He looks like a dweeb."

" _Jackson!"_

A slap sounded, and the kit seemed far too pleased to be not only the centre of attention, but the cause of the pompous male's pain. Erica went to take her hand back, a giggle leaving her lips, but a pointed look from her alpha made her continue her absentminded pets. Derek was readying himself to pull out the arrow, and needed the smaller animal to be distracted as he did so.

Erica bent at the waist, wrinkling her nose at the adorable kit. "You're so cute," she announced, moving to run her fingers under his chin. "How could you kill something this cute?"

Red eyes flashed in a warning to avoid the subject.

Allison hesitated before reaching out herself; seemingly unsure if the animal would let her touch him. "He's quite the looker," she agreed, studying the multicoloured coat. "I guess I can see why he wants the... you know..." she cleared her throat, leaning closer as she caught the arrow being gripped in firm hands. "Hey sweetie, you going okay?"

Stiles cocked his head, a chitter leaving his throat before the adorable sound turned high and pained. He yelped and squirmed, jerking away from the group and skittering to the other end of the table with distrusting and accusing eyes.

Derek grinned, waving the arrow in his hand.

 _You little shit! No warning? Gah, you and your stupid eyebrows need to learn manners,_ Stiles hissed and bared his teeth in reprimand. His back leg was burning and itching, and he turned, studying the exit wound with a critical eye.

"Is..." Erica looked around in a mixture of confusion and amusement. "Is he _yelling_ at you?"

Throwing the arrow to the side for later inspection, Derek dropped his tired body in the nearest dining room chair. "He better not be," he warned quietly, leaning back against the wood. "I did that out of the goodness of my heart."

Stiles hesitated and looked back to the male, golden irises roaming over the tight body. The alpha was nervous. Pushing to his feet, he juggled his weight awkwardly on his legs before trotting across the table, nervously reaching out to butt his head against the wolf's chin. All the females in the room cooed at the action and melted into a small puddle of goo when the kit chittered in thanks, continuing to bump and rub against stubble covered cheeks.

Derek felt a small flush cover his neck when the cold nose pressed against the soft skin under his chin. It was a vulnerable area and he didn't know why he was letting the kit rub against the hollow of his throat but he made a soft growl in response, tapping the creature's nose to acknowledge it.

The kit moved back, jaws parting in a wide yawn as the others studied it with varying degrees of affection and worry. Stiles was nosing at the wound on his back leg when the comment was voiced, and he'd never hated Jackson more than he did in that moment, his golden eyes widening in shock and disgust at his pack mate.

"So are we gonna call the Collector or what?"

Derek's eyes flashed red for a split second, and Stiles took some comfort in the anger that took over his features. While he personally preferred the humbled calm the male had been sporting seconds ago, he was happy the man was angered on his behalf. "What the hell are you talking about?" Derek demanded, turning to glare across the room.

Jackson didn't so much as falter. "We said we'd help him," he reminded the room, folding his arms against his chest. "Hiding what he's looking for isn't exactly _helpful_. Remember what he said? If we help him, he'll forget about us."

 _You selfish bastard._

Stiles growled and inched closer to his alpha, resisting the urge to tuck his nose into his armpit and hide. A hand pressed against his raised hackles and surprisingly it was Peter, the older wolf making small noises of comfort to him. When he met the man's blue eyes thankfully, he could only hold the gaze for a few seconds before the knowing smirk made him falter. _Fuck._

"No. But I remember what Stiles said."

All eyes snapped to the proud and tall form of one Scott McCall.

Derek cocked a brow. "And what did he say?" he asked almost mockingly, one hand reaching out to rest on the table between the fox and Jackson. The protective action went unnoticed by all but the fox himself.

"He said that what if after all this ends – after we hand over the fox – we notice an empty desk at school," Scott started, frowning down at the small creature on the table. "What if we see an empty locker and realise that someone's missing. I don't know about you, but I don't think I could ignore that if I knew it was my fault. If I knew I had handed someone over to be butchered because I was too worried about my own ass."

Derek was next to speak up, his eyes also glued to the small, now quivering form. "If we can so easily hand this guy over, what's gonna stop us from turning on each other?" he murmured. "Jackson, if this hunter guy said he wanted a banshee or he'd be coming after a Kanima turned wolf – what would you do? Would you hand over Lydia?"

Jackson hesitated, paling at the thought before he shook his head. "No, I would find some way to take him out but this is different – I don't know this person!"

"Maybe you do," Lydia whispered, staring at the kit as well. No one seemed to be able to tear their eyes away. "God, I could sit next to you every day in class and not even know," she continued, moving even closer and speaking to the fox now. "I could smile at you every day in the lunch room; talk with you in the library."

 _Hah, that's funny because you actually do all of those things..._

Lydia straightened with a sudden and sharp movement. "What if this was Danny?" she suddenly demanded, turning to look at her boyfriend. "How do you know it's _not?"_

"Danny?" Jackson parroted. "No way – he would've told me and we both know it."

"Would he?" Lydia asked, popping out a hip and arching a perfectly shaped brow. "I mean, look how much _you've_ told him. He knows about you right?" _Oh the beautiful sarcasm._ "And look at where the fox is, Jackson! How did it know to come here?"

For the first time since the fox had turned up on their doorstep, Isaac stepped forward. "Wait, so whoever the werefox is – it's someone who knows?"

Derek rubbed a hand through his hair. "Apparently so..."

"Someone we've told or someone who was able to put the puzzle pieces together?" Lydia mused next, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter – we're not handing him over. End of story."

Once one person had said it, the pack seemed to breathe out in a collective sigh. It was clearly an idea that they all agreed with, even if it was more of a hesitant allowance, and they seemed pleased with themselves for the decision.

Stiles on the other hand was trying not to die from sheer happiness and pride. His pack had come together like he'd always wanted them too, and like he'd been pushing them too and he was proud of them. Of course, the odds of him surviving the next few days had risen significantly and that may have had something to do with his elation, but the true feeling of pack that radiated in the room meant more. He didn't care if the hunter won – if he lost his pelt – because he finally knew what a true pack was. And he was happy.

The happiness only lasted a few seconds though, before he was forced to push it back.

"What if the Collector comes here looking for him?" Scott asked the silence, rubbing the tips of his fingers together as he tried to coax the kit to his side of the table. One of his hands held a cotton bud with alcohol on it, the clear liquid emitting a pungent smell. "What then?"

Lydia hummed. "We need to hide him."

"Can I ask why we're so sure it's a he?" Peter droned quietly. "For all we know it walks around in skirts during the day."

He was ignored.

"Stiles," Derek announced, something telling him to bring up the boy. After all, he'd seen the werefox outside his house – there was something there that needed to be connected. "He's human – he's safe and I think there's something he's not telling us about this. The kit will be safest with him."

Lydia nodded instantly. "I call him."

On the other side of the table, the kit in question was hissing and snapping as the wound on its back leg was rubbed clean. The alcohol was stinging and burning, but his teeth never came in contact with flesh, only empty air and his growling snarls was directed at the wound rather than the person healing it. Scott was apologetic; muttering a constant stream of _sorry_ under his breath as he worked.

He was wrapping the injury when the strawberry haired woman returned. "Stiles isn't picking up?" she revealed in confusion, perfect lips drawn into a pouting frown. "He never ignores me."

"Try again?" Scott asked, worry lacing his tone. "Stiles doesn't ignore phone calls – no matter how upset he is. He wouldn't worry us like that," he argued, smiling down at the kit once he was finished.

Jackson muttered; "Panic attack fiasco," under his breath.

Lydia huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder and throwing her phone back into her purse. "Well, he's not picking up," she stated, not bothering to say anything more other than; "And I don't know about you, but most of us can't exactly take a fox home with us."

All eyes fell on the most likely candidate, smiles turning downright sinister.

"No," Derek announced firmly. "I am not taking care of the damned kit."

* * *

Three hours later Derek glared across the table at the creature, ignoring the innocent blinks it gave him in return. "I know you're up to something," he muttered, eyes narrowing further.

He ended up taking care of the damned kit.

* * *

 **Wow, so this chapter is a little bit longer than usual... But too be fair, I don't hear any of you complaining about it so I won't either! I hope you enjoy the latest addition and don't be shy to tell me what you think!**

 **Thanks to all my reviewers!** _ **Mangy, Kuon, xaveriix, ali5tvd, Angel of Dark Side, Ince, livelygirl2012, fadingshadowss**_ **and the four** _ **Guests**_ **who reviewed as well!**

 **Taila xx**


	8. After Letterman

_I could get used to this..._

Stiles refused to blink – which was a big demand, his eyes were _burning_ like a bitch – and continued to stare across the table haughtily, making sure to remain still and unmoving. His muscles were quivering, begging to move and relax but he was too stubborn to end the game he had going with the man seated at the other end.

Derek was as silent and as still as he was, but unlike the fox, he looked uncomfortable. There was a tightness to his lips, and a pinch in his brow that screamed how tense his shoulders were under the thick leather jacket; but he didn't move despite it.

Stiles was still going to take the discomfort with a side of victory and a large cup of _vengeance._

He deserved that much, he liked to think, for all the times his back had collided with a wall or door and all the times teeth had come a little too close to his neck. If this was the only revenge he got for the bruises and fluttering heart beats then so be it.

A small noise echoed in the silence between them, and he absently realised that the alpha was growling lowly, his eyes darkening. Derek, it seemed, was growing tired of the childish staring contest. Stiles was tempted to continue, but when sharpening canines peeked through red lips, he gave in; looking down and lowering his body to the table with a small whine.

All submissive behaviour.

A pleased grunt had him inching down the table, innocently looking up into satisfied red eyes with a small chittering apology. Derek eyed him uncertainly before sighing and nodding once, accepting the pathetic sorry with a roll of his eyes.

 _I honestly didn't think that the Big Bad had a weakness for cute animals,_ Stiles mused, yawning widely before shaking his head. He was tired admittedly, the wound and chase taking a lot out of him, but his stomach was rumbling in displeasure at being ignored.

Hearing the noise, Derek looked up with an arched brow. "Hungry?"

Stiles bowed his head in admittance.

"All right, come on," Derek allowed, standing with a roll of his shoulders. "If I don't take care of you the girls will have my head." He moved towards the kitchen without waiting to see if the fox was following him, only needing the pittering of tiny claws on the flooring to know he had company. "What do you want?"

Stiles was ignoring him, staring up at the counter with a distrusting look. He wanted to be up there, to be on a more even level with his alpha but not only was it high – the faux marble was _slippery_ and his back leg was _burning_.

"Oi, I asked you something," Derek breathed, his voice suddenly very close. Warm hands encircled his stomach, picking him up carefully before depositing him on the counter. "Happy now?" he grumbled, shaking his head before leaning against the island with him. "Now, what do you want to eat?"

Stiles tried to arch a brow, but both lifted in a look that was no doubt more amusing than condescending. Sighing, Derek got the hint and touched the fridge with a curious look of his own. When the kit shook his head, Derek moved his finger to the freezer.

"You want to eat frozen meat?" Derek mocked, opening it and bending down before touching the highest thing on the shelves. "This?" he asked, poking the solid mince. When another shake was sent his way, he lowered the finger until it was a nod instead. "Oh god," he groaned. "You want curly fries?"

Stiles did his best to grin, kinda curious as to why the wolf had them in the first place.

Derek, apparently now able to read minds, yanked out the unopened packet. "Stiles," was all he said, moving to find a deep fryer next. "After practically living with him for a year, you learn that when the kid wants them, _he wants them._ " Stiles was shocked when the alpha's lips tugged up into a small smile. "Trust me, don't get in-between him and these stupid things," he warned. "You think you're safe because he's human? You're not. He'll find some way to make you wish you were dead if you so much as touch them."

Nodding to show he got the message, Stiles ignored the warmth flowing through him. Maybe the werewolf didn't hate him as much as he thought he did...

Derek filled the small basket, before dropping it into the boiling oil. "But I guess you already knew that right?" he asked next, sounding slightly bitter. He leant against the counter, mindful of the hot oil, and promptly glared at the small animal with all he was worth.

 _Okay, change of plans, he hates me._

Stiles wanted to shrink back from what he was naming the deathly death glare of death, but refused, instead lifting his chin higher.

"How do you know him?" Derek demanded, narrowing his eyes. "And does he know about _this?_ And don't try and act dumb. You were outside his house yesterday – is that why he wanted me gone so badly? Because you were there?"

Stiles adopted his best coy look, and started flicking his tail around again. Of course, the show of arrogance wasn't greatly appreciated by his companion, and an annoyed growl echoed around him.

"So that's the little secret he was keeping..." Derek murmured, referring to their previous fight. Suddenly, the glare was back, and this time, Stiles did move back. "I don't appreciate you making him lie to us and I definitely don't appreciate you putting him in danger like this. Look, just by being acquainted with you, he's now at the risk of being harmed by a hunter..."

Stiles shifted under the accusing gaze, but noted that the man didn't seem to actually be _seeing_ him. The last words he spoke hung in the air, and he realised how alike it was with the pack. By being a member of the pack and helping them, he was putting himself in danger and the guilt flashing through green eyes apparently showed that now Derek understood as well.

Derek let out a loud sigh. "You don't have to tell me who you are if you don't want too," he grumbled, shaking his head and hurrying to pull out the curly fries before they burnt. "But if Stiles get hurt because of you – I'll skin you myself."

Stiles could only dip his head in agreement, body shifting almost nervously after the stare.

Derek readied the food with his hands, looking over his shoulder. "Is that how you met him? Stiles, I mean," he elaborated. "Did you both go to buy curly fries one day and then _instant connection?"_

The fox chittered in amusement, bobbing his head up and down. It wasn't agreement per say, but he was approving of the older males guess and use of humour. The dark haired wolf smiled down at him, the attractive image accompanied by the smack of a plate on the counter. Stiles was almost tempted to ignore the food as the brooding male turned to look out the window with a thoughtful look. Derek was so much more interesting than a few fries.

 _He definitely doesn't hate me as much as I thought._

* * *

"He wasn't at school."

Stiles startled at the loud voice, eyes snapping to the taller form of his friend as the boy bounded through the door. He'd been quietly sneaking closer and closer to the fingers drumming against a muscled leg but now that they had company, his prey stood quickly. "What?"

Scott snarled under his breath, seemingly impatient as the others filed in behind him. "Stiles," he elaborated, waving his hands. "Stiles wasn't at school today. No one's seen him."

Derek narrowed his eyes, and the small kit behind him received a look of warning. "Has he been answering you at all? Have you tried calling him or texting him? Maybe his father?" he listed.

"I called him like a hundred times!"

Isaac came up behind him with a cheeky smile. "It was more like three actually," he interrupted, bouncing away when the now spluttering beta tried to smack him. Almost absentmindedly, he wandered to the alpha's side, one hand coming away from his body to pet the kit on the head. "But jokes aside, he didn't answer anyone..."

"No one tried the Sherriff?" Derek demanded, looking between them. When no one answered it dawned on the man that they didn't know what he knew, that they hadn't been there yesterday as he'd thrown the boy against the wall in anger. "Oh."

Peter leaped on the small admission. "Oh?" he echoed. "Something you're not telling us?"

Derek shifted on his feet, sparing the boy-turned-animal behind him a quick glance. "I went after him yesterday, when he left," he admitted slowly, tearing his gaze from the kit when it looked up with imploring eyes. "Stiles."

"To tear him a new one?" Isaac questioned, dropping his body onto the couch and his bag onto the floor. Hesitantly, he patted his lap in an offering for the smallest being in the room to take residence there. After a few seconds of deliberation, Stiles vaulted himself up onto the warm legs and settled. "I get that he kinda acted like a dick, but you could smell that he was scared. It was just a defence mechanism."

Derek nodded. "I know, I didn't go there to yell at him," he promised, running a hand through his hair and mussing up the perfect black locks. "I just wanted to check up on him. The hunter worried him more than I thought he would and when he ran off like that, I was thinking he might have been on the brink of another panic attack."

"I get that," Scott was the next to speak up, his sigh weary and worrisome. "His heart was going a hundred miles a minute – hell, he was making _me_ nervous," he confessed, sitting next to the other pack pup and running his fingers through soft fur.

Stiles leant into the touch, making a chittering purr under his breath as comfort to the teenager.

"It was kinda like a rabbit," Erica noted, nodding as well with a confused smile. With a wave over her shoulder, the ever silent Boyd followed her onto the other couch in the room, sitting at her side. "But I don't blame him. The Collector jerk came on a little too strong for my tastes."

Boyd murmured into the tense atmosphere, his voice commanding attention. "It was an intimidation technique, wasn't it?" he guessed logically, looking to the oldest members of the pack. "He was trying to make Stiles nervous and defensive. Why?"

"Maybe he thought that Stiles _might_ have something to do with the fox?" Peter offered, gesturing to the purring kit. "Maybe he was hoping that Stiles would slip up and save him from having to prove it? He was looking for leads."

The pack murmured their agreement before lapsing into silence, not realising that the topic of their conversation was hiding his nerves under the guise of a contented purr. Strong hands were still firmly stroking his fur and Stiles leant into the touch, idly wondering if he was comforting himself or the teenagers with the action as he allowed it. The very mention of the hunter and their confrontation yesterday was enough to make him feel on edge and he itched to be closer to someone who could protect him.

 _Alpha..._

"When I arrived I could him them both arguing," Derek spoke softly, breaking the tense silence. "Stiles and his father. I could tell he was crying, hear it in his voice and smell the grief. I guess I panicked and rushed forward, but I could hear what they were saying through the door and..."

Stiles couldn't help it; he pulled away from the two young males and moved towards the one who was tensing anxiously. He pawed the bottom of dark jeans and waited, hoping the male was too distracted to really notice what he wanted. With a sigh, Derek bent down and picked up the kit, using one arm to hold it up and the other to stroke along its ears.

"The Sherriff was saying something about how he'd tried forcing Stiles to tell the pack, but now he didn't have a choice," Derek finished.

Scott shot up. "Wait so... John knows?" he squeaked, looking to his phone as though he expected the man to call him and scream wolf. "How long has he known for? Why didn't Stiles tell us?"

Derek shrugged, still not really _noticing_ that he'd picked up the kit. "Stiles told me that he'd told his father day one. John's always known," he informed the now shell shocked group. "I demanded he tell me what he was hiding and he kept claiming it was that he'd told his father but he was lying. I knew it."

"So – he's hiding something from us?" Erica asked, looking almost offended. "What, so he doesn't trust us all of a sudden?"

"I think he was hiding the fox," Derek murmured, juggling the weight in his arms. "I stormed off afterwards and tried to cool down in the woods, and guess who I saw? This one. Course, the little shit got away and I ran here to tell you, it was why I demanded you all stay," he explained before shaking his head. "Too be fair, I'm not even angry at Stiles anymore. We were ready to hand the fox over and you know how protective Stiles can be, he probably wanted to help the fox instead of hindering him."

Scott was already nodding. "Yeah, that's definitely what he would do," he murmured. "Probably why he was so angry at us, and," his eyes lit up, hand lifting to point at no one in particular. "I bet that's what caused his panic attack! He was frightened for his friend and panicked..." When the others nodded, he lowered the hand, a sigh escaping him. "I guess he's still a little sore after yesterday?"

Derek, finally realising he was holding the kit, went to drop it back on a random lap. "Yeah, I wasn't exactly gentle," he confessed.

"Are you ever?"

Ignoring his uncle, Derek continued. "We'll give him some time to cool down, reorganise his thoughts and the like. Tomorrow we'll tell him about the new plan and I'll apologize."

A mock gasp echoed through the room, Isaac clutching the fox to his chest. "Did you just say you'll apologize?" he stuttered, feigning shock with wide eyes and twitching lips. "Hell must have frozen over..."

"Watch it," Derek growled, pointing a finger in the pup's direction. "That fox isn't always going to be there to protect you."

Isaac grinned at the tease, lifting up the small body to hide behind it while the teenager next to him adopted a look of thought. Stiles almost wanted to grin himself when his best friend furrowed his brow and licked his lips. _Don't think too hard Scotty, you might break something..._

"Why not?"

 _Oh no, he broke something._

Derek blinked in confusion. "What?"

Shifting under the sudden attention, Scott rubbed the back of his neck. "I said why not? Why isn't the fox always going to be here? He's a supernatural creature that needs a pack, and he's friends with Stiles..." he looked between everyone, dropping the hand back to his lap. "Why can't he stay?"

Stiles was the next to shrink back when all eyes shot to him. None of the gazes held anything remotely threatening, instead all seemed to glint in thought and question before; "Well, if we knew who he was..."

 _Damn you Derek!_

"I think he was dropping a hint," Isaac stage-whispered, lips brushing against furry ears.

Stiles flicked his ear out of reach, turning to look back at the boy with a condescending look. _Like hell I'm changing back now,_ he grumbled mentally, wiggling out of soft hands and falling to the floor. Shaking the ghost of the gentle touch off, he pattered across the room and jumped back up onto the dining room table, turning his back on the room.

There was no use changing back now – he wasn't ready for the confrontation that would occur, and he honestly didn't think he was ready for the pack to know. They knew there was a fox in town, and that it had some relation to him, but that was that. They didn't think that they were actually staring at the boy they'd thought was human for years. They didn't think that the open minded, free spirited and loud mouthed boy had betrayed them from day one.

"Take that as a no?"

Stiles turned, tiny teeth grinding against each other. _Take that as a_ _ **not now!**_

Derek stared down at him, both brows comically high on his head. "You don't have to be so angry," he muttered with a frown, one hand lifting to pet him before awkwardly hovering in the air above his head. "We're not going to force you to do anything you don't wanna do," he soothed.

Stiles nodded once, eyes glued to the hand still hovering above his ears, soaking in the warmth the digits offered. He was tempted to butt up into the warm palm, but refrained, instead allowing his eyes to flicker to the man still holding it there. Derek was watching him with a studious glint in his eyes before he realised he was being watched in return, an awkward smile tugging at his lips.

"You haven't told them how you met Stiles," Derek pointed out, taking his hand back. "Is it some wacky story that can entertain us for a while?"

A scoff from across the room caught both their attention. "It's Stiles, course it's gonna be _wacky,"_ Scott rolled his eyes, chuckling under his breath. "I bet you ten bucks it either has something to do with _Star Wars_ or curly fries."

Derek automatically held up a hand. "Deal," he grinned before turning to face the boy. "Our little friend here last night told me it was through curly fries... so pay up," he demanded, wiggling his fingers to gesture payment.

Scott gaped. "Wait it was actually curly fries?"

Derek nodded with feigned shock. "Yes, wow, ten bucks now."

Stiles looked between the two, resisting the urge to offer a canine chuckle as his own opinion. When the curly headed boy made no move to hand over the cash, he barked loudly to gain attention. When all eyes shot to his form he jerked his head in Derek's direction, gesturing for the payment to be made.

 _Come on man, you owe him – cough it up..._

"See, even he knows I'm right," Derek snorted. "Hand. It. Over."

Scott groaned but dug around in his pocket, tongue peeking out as he struggled to find the money needed. Soon a note was slapped into the awaiting palm, and the teen slumped back against the couch, grumbling under his breath all the while. Derek grinned as he pocketed the cash, turning to quirk a brow at the small kit.

Stiles tried to smile back.

"I'll buy you curly fries with that," Derek promised before yawning widely, shaking out his body with the action. "Since you help me win it and all, we'll split it."

Scott made a noise of betrayal. "You guys worked against me!"

Stiles tucked his feet under his body, curling into a ball. _Thick as thieves we are..._ Derek chuckled and he looked up with bright golden eyes, watching lines form around the man's lips. It made him look younger, happier and Stiles felt his own spirits brightening at the sight.

Derek needed to smile more.

"Oi, you, done your homework yet?"

Stiles rested his head on his paws, heart warming at the sight of the alpha chasing down his adopted pup. He wanted to stay longer, to see this side of the pack he strangely didn't see often himself but it was getting too risky now. They were going to question Stiles tomorrow and if the _human boy_ wasn't there to answer the phone call, then trouble would be calling...

"Okay, okay... after Letterman?" Isaac pleaded. "I'll do it after Letterman!"

Stiles watched the pair argue with affection; he was leaving tonight.

But after Letterman.

* * *

 **Here we go guys, chapter eight at long last! I hope you enjoy it, and don't be shy to leave a review. I love to read them, and should really start replying to some of them... What do you think?**

 **Thanks to all those who reviewed! And to all those who have followed or favourite'd this story since I last posted. I'm so happy at how much attention this story is receiving. Because of it little niche – Fox!Stiles – I wasn't sure if a lot of people would actually be interested in reading it...**

 **Taila xx**


	9. Seduction 101

Stiles could only thank the gods that his father had brought his things inside. It hadn't _rained_ exactly but the moisture from cool mornings might have been enough to ruin his ever faithful phone.

"I brought it and your clothing inside when you didn't show up," John admitted, frowning at his cup as he pushed the phone across the table. He took a swig of its contents and blanched at the bitterness, wrinkling his nose. "Figured you'd only be pissed if you had to go and buy a new replacement."

Stiles reached out for the device, waking the idle screen nervously. "You mean, you figured I'd be pissed if I had to go and buy a new replacement with _your_ credit card?" he asked, wincing at the numerous number of missed calls and text messages. "They didn't hold back did they?" he murmured, dropping his phone to the table. He'd worry about answering it all later.

John studied his son, absorbing the exhausted smile and bright eyes. "Why aren't you angry?" he blurted, chest heaving in a nervous breath. He wasn't _too_ caring about the boy disappearing for a few days – the time had climbed to weeks after his wife had passed – but thinking _he_ had been the cause of the boys hiding hurt more than he cared to admit. "Stiles?"

Frowning in confusion, the dark haired boy looked up. "What?" he questioned dumbly, pausing as he lifted a spoonful of cereal to his lips. "Angry? Why would I be angry? _Dad,"_ he dropped the spoon and adopted a look of sheer disbelief. "Did you eat take out last night?"

"What? No," John defended instantly, struggling to remember if he'd thrown the pizza boxes away. "I mean, aren't you angry about what happened the other day?" he asked softer, frowning down at the caffeine in his hand. It was bitter and disgusting, but it was far more interesting than the emotions running through his son's eyes. "You disappeared on me for a few days... So I figured you were angry about, you know... what I did?"

Stiles slowly nodded, the memory of the feeling of betrayal running through his mind. He _had_ been angry, but now, after sleeping next to a certain grizzly alpha for a night and seeing how the pack acted when he wasn't around – he understood his father a little better. He understood that he was stupid to push the pack away when they were clearly all he wanted.

Clearly all he deserved.

Now he just had to convince himself to tell them without having a mini seizure.

"I was angry," he finally spoke up, smiling when his father practically deflated. "I was dad, but I'm not anymore and I didn't run away because of you... I understand what you've been trying to do, and I get that I shouldn't have been so angry with you about it..." he sighed and shook his head, disappointed at the way he'd acted out against the man who was trying to help him. "I shouldn't have acted like that dad, and – and I'm really sorry."

John looked up in shock, confused about the words that were reaching his ears. "You – you're _sorry?"_

"Yeah, I am," Stiles admitted, swallowing thickly. "You only wanted what was best for me, but I was too scared to see it. I should've known that the pack would accept me and it was stupid to think they wouldn't. Here I was thinking I was the one who knew everything about this world, and that I should be teaching you – maybe you need to teach me a little," he grinned widely, spooning some cereal into his mouth. The nutty flavours made him hum slightly and he coughed into his hand, looking to the box he'd poured it out of. "What the hell is this shit?"

John chuckled. "Now you know how I feel," he pointed out, wrinkling his nose at the cereal box. "That's stuff the purest form of evil."

"You don't say," Stiles mused, pushing the box – and bowl – to the side before standing. "Anyway, I guess I shouldn't be looking for an apology from you because even though it was a bit of a dirty move, it was what you needed to do. I will tell them dad, I promise, but you need to give me a little time," he commented, lifting both brows before grabbing his school bag.

John stood as well, going to spoon some sugar into his coffee. "Don't say a word," he instructed, stirring the white powder in. "Stiles, I get that you need time, but how much longer is this going to take?"

Moving towards the door, the teenager beamed over his shoulder. "Not much longer," he promised. "I'm ready to tell them. I just... I just need to find the right time."

"Alright, son," John allowed, reaching out and stopping the boy with a hand. The whiskey eyed boy frowned but only stumbled when he was pushed back into the dining chair. "You need to eat something," the elder murmured, going to raid the cupboards. "And you need to tell me why you _did_ run away then."

Stiles sighed but smiled when the man of the law domestically readied a bowl of corn flakes, sugar coated and everything. "I got shot," he announced dryly. "And oh, dude there was _blood_ and _stairs..._ "

"Shot?" John almost dropped the milk, face paling slightly. "Wait did you say stairs? How many stairs?"

Greedily spooning some cereal into his lips – he wasn't going to ask where the man hid the unhealthy food, ignorance was bliss – Stiles spoke around the mouthful. "All the way to the top of the loft," he scoffed, wrinkling his nose. "With an arrow in my leg! And don't forget the blood, I told you there was blood right?"

"That's a lot of stairs," John mused. "And you hate them when you're _not_ bleeding out from your leg."

"I know right!"

John chuckled and sat down again, shaking his head at his son's antics. "Do I wanna know who shot you? And can I return the favour?" he questioned, both brows furrowing slightly in annoyance.

"Just _guess_ who shot me," Stiles rolled his eyes. "It was that hunter dude, and did you know that from behind he doesn't look like a fox hunting and werewolf murdering physcopath? Cause I didn't."

Again, the older male only laughed, happy to have his son back in some capacity. The younger male's smile was something to see. "From behind eh?" he teased, waggling both eyebrows. "I'm going to let this slide as long as you can tell me that you're okay now? The wound is clean and not bothering you anymore?"

 _Let it slide my ass._

Stiles waved away the concern, knowing his father was anything but agreeing with what had happened. The older fellow was just smart enough to hide it behind a smile. "I'm fine – it hurts a little and I'm dizzy, but other than that I'm fine!"

"Dizzy?" John asked, already leaning forward to pour more sugar over the cereal. "You need to eat something sugary, get your levels back up to normal, yeah?"

Rolling his eyes, Stiles finished the last few spoonfuls of cereal before gathering the white powder that had gathered in the bottom. Once he'd down the sugar infused milk, he grinned at his father. "See you later?"

"Of course, but I might be home a little late so don't wait up," John answered with a small smile of his own. "Love you."

"Love you too," Stiles promised, grabbing his bag again and hurrying out the door. "So please don't eat what I just did, I want you around a little longer! I'm expecting birthday presents until I'm as ancient as you are!"

Slamming the door to the jeep behind him, he booted up the car, muttering under his breath when a dangerous wheeze sounded from under the bonnet. _One of these days, I'll take you to a mechanic baby... One of these days I'll have the money to get around to fixing you_ , he promised mentally, looking behind the car as he began to pull out of the driveway. It was somewhat of an empty promise admittedly, he had money saved but for things other than a lost cause.

He just wasn't going to admit that his baby was dying a slow, and painful – for him, he hates walking – death.

Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, he snuck his phone onto his lap, carefully watching the road as he scrolled through the large amount of messages and calls lining the screen. There was a least one from every pack member, and definitely more than three from his best friend, and the knowledge warmed his heart a little more. A week ago, he'd been ready to push the pack away without realising he could've hurt them by doing so all because he thought they didn't _care_. Thankfully, he now knew better.

He knew better now right?

Tapping every message and marking them as seen, he went to his contacts and pulled up the previous messages; already typing a new one out. He was careful to keep an eye on the road, tapping out no more than a word at a time before checking around him. Sending the message, he threw the phone back in his cup holder and pulled into a familiar driveway.

 _ **To – Sourwolf  
**_ _Dad and I are okay now; I guess we needed you to know about everything. Catch up later?_

He wasn't trying to make Derek feel better, nope, not at all. It wasn't like the smell of his anxiety and fear when he'd been talking about how he'd fought with Stiles was enough to make his heart churn. It wasn't like he was trying to be the one to say sorry, so Derek wouldn't worry himself into an eyebrowless oblivion...

Cause that would be silly.

"Scott?" Stiles rapped on the door before throwing it open, the smell of cooking batter and golden syrup hitting him like a freight train. "Whoa, is someone making pancakes and why wasn't I told?" he asked, wandering into the kitchen.

Melissa and her curly headed son were at the counter, both looking shocked at the boy who'd strolled in with a lazy smirk and superman shirt. Stiles blinked at the attention, looking behind him to make sure nothing had followed him through the door.

"Uh dudes you have something wrong with your eyes," he commented, waving at his own whiskey coloured irises. "They're staring. I don't know if they have permission to do so but they _do_ have permission to stop."

"Stiles!"

"That's my name," the teen narrowed his eyes, carefully sauntering forward. "Are you gonna share those pancakes or am I just gonna stand here confused _and_ pancake-less?" he sighed dramatically. Of course, before he could even suck in some air to repeat the notion, a plate was thrusted into his hands. "Oh thanks Melissa!"

Scott continued to gape as the boy sat next to him and stole his syrup. "Stiles, you're here?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah," Stiles shrugged. "Figured you wanted a lift or something," he smiled, forking some breakfast into his mouth before moaning. "Oh god, this is amazing. Melissa can you adopt me? Please?"

"I'll think about it," the woman replied easily, already recovering from his sudden appearance. Honestly, he thought she'd be used to it by now, but if Scott had told her about all the shit that had been going down; he didn't blame the surprise on her. She wasn't shocked he'd showed up and demanded pancakes – more confused he'd shown up after radio silence for two days.

Once again, he didn't blame her. Stiles didn't _do silence._

Stiles rolled his eyes, stabbing his fork in her direction. "You've been _thinking about it_ since I asked you back in first grade," he pointed out. "How much longer do you need woman? The suspense is killing me."

"I'll get back to you," Melissa shrugged, leaning down to kiss his forehead before leaving the room.

Stiles scoffed and shoved more pancake into his mouth, speaking around the large bite. "Rude."

"Stiles man," Scott finally managed to say more than a stammering comment, and touched the boy's arm. "Are you okay? We've been worried sick about you and Derek thought he'd done something the other day and the guilt is killing him – "

Stiles held up his fork with a smile. "Dude, it's fine," he allowed. "Sorry for going quiet on you – just needed some time to myself," he explained, the smile turning somewhat meek. "Sorry again..."

"I called more than three times," Scott noted quietly.

"Yeah, I saw," Stiles leant closer and wrapped the teenager in a one armed hug. "Thanks man."

Scott hugged him back; resting his head on his shoulder with a small sigh and Stiles felt guilt gnaw at his chest. This wasn't the first time he'd made his friend nervous by refusing to answer calls and messages, but it had to be the last. No more secrets. No more anything.

"Hey, uh, Scott... I wanna tell you something..."

Pulling back, the curly headed boy frowned. "Sure man, anything, what's up?"

"Listen, I – "

"Scott! Stiles! You need to leave or you're going to be late for school!" Melissa called, poking her head back through the kitchen door with a smile. She must have caught the awkward embrace. "And I don't want any more calls from your teachers so hurry up."

They both nodded and automatically tidied up their plates and grabbed their bags – well Scott did – before moving towards the front door. They said goodbye and headed towards the car, falling back into their usual pattern as they piled into the jeep.

"Hey, what did you wanna tell me?" Scott questioned, smiling as he fiddled with the radio.

Stiles turned and watched the boy, shaking his head. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

 _Useless Stilinski._

* * *

Checking his phone under the table again, Stiles smiled at something his friends were talking about; trying to focus on the conversation rather than the lack of text messages coming through to his end. He'd messaged the man before school and now they were nearing the end – all on their free period, which had been dubbed the _pack period_.

Heh, pack period.

"Anyway, I think we need to address the elephant in the room," Lydia voiced somewhat primly, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Stiles, why didn't you answer any of my texts? You _never_ ignore me."

Cocking a brow, Stiles chuckled. "You're not pissed that I fell off the radar for a day are you? Just annoyed that I ignored you," he commented smugly, shaking his head in amusement. "I've already apologized for that remember? You didn't talk to me until I said it like, a million times."

Someone coughed. "Three times."

Stiles didn't even look away from the strawberry haired girl. "Make one more joke about three phone calls and I'll shove your werewolf ass into a blender and make a power shake," he warned, fingers drumming out a beat on the table top. "Lydia, I wanted some time alone, no big deal. If I was texting you back, everyone else would get annoyed cause I didn't text _them;_ it was more trouble than it was worth."

She seemed to accept the excuse and nodded with a small hum, leaning against Jackson's side contently. Opening her mouth, no doubt ready to inform him of everything that had happened in the time he'd been gone, she snapped it closed when a voice spoke before she could.

"Derek text me," Isaac announced, not bothering to say hello as he entered the room. He dropped himself in the only free seat with the perfect, pouting heartbroken frown. "Foxy's gone."

 _Foxy?_

Stiles absently checked his phone, noting that he hadn't been text back. "Who's foxy?" he questioned instead, swallowing back the disappointment and looking up in faux confusion.

"Oh don't play coy," Erica snorted, smiling genuinely across the table at him. "You know who foxy is, hell you're the only one who _really_ knows who he is, right?"

He went to answer, but his phone vibrating in his hand made him pause. "Oh, uh, right, forgot about that..." he murmured, peeking down to the cell and opening the lock. The screen screamed that he had one new message. Licking his lips, he opened it somewhat nervously, eyes skimming over the message.

 _ **From – Sourwolf  
**_ _Good to hear, was worried. After school, meet at the loft._

Stiles felt his lips tug up into a smile, and he cleared his throat. "So, you met him then huh?" he offered, quickly typing out a reply as the others debated how to answer. He would play along for now, get their opinion on his fox side then spill the beans later tonight. It would be the easiest thing to do – to tell them all at once and _not_ in a public setting.

Being punched in public was just embarrassing.

 _ **To – Sourwolf  
**_ _Cool, it's a date_

Isaac was the first one to speak up, and the sparkle in his eye showed that he was quite attached to, uh, foxy. "He's awesome," he gushed, running a hand through perfect hair. "I don't mean to be insensitive or anything, but I kinda get why the hunter dude wants his pelt. He's so pretty looking."

"Pretty looking?" Stiles snorted at the choice of words. "Bet he loved hearing you say that."

"Nah, but he was," Isaac argued passionately. "He was copper, silver, black... It was strange, but really pretty."

Lydia nodded her agreement. "I would love a fur coat like that," she mused absently, tapping something out on her phone. "And a dress the same colour as his eyes. They were a gorgeous shade of gold."

"Why don't you just go marry him?" Jackson muttered, tightening his hold on the girl's shoulders.

Stiles started back in confusion, amazed at the possessive qualities. "Whoa, dude, calm down. It's a fox, I don't think he's gonna steal your girl from you," he tried to sooth, narrowing his eyes at the teenager. "And to be fair, I don't think he swings that way."

 _Oh you lying little shit..._

"Wait? Foxy's gay?" Isaac demanded.

Stiles shrugged awkwardly. "Ah, I dunno..." he tried to smile, brows furrowing in the middle. "I think he's more playing for both teams. All teams. I just don't think he really cares."

Lydia eyed him. "So you two are pretty close then?"

"Uh, yup."

"Why didn't you tell us?" she hissed, leaning across the table. "You know you can trust us, but you lied instead. It's not like you Stiles to keep things from us, so why did you do it?"

Stiles leant back, blinking under the attention. "It wasn't my secret to tell okay? I don't have the right to go around telling everybody," he muttered back, jumping when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out.

"Okay..." Lydia allowed before huffing slightly. "Hey, do I see him everyday?"

Stiles looked down to his phone, absently nodding. "Yup."

 _ **From – Sourwolf  
**_ _If you say so_

"Do I talk to him on a regular basis?" Lydia asked next, not noticing that the boy was more or less distracted by his phone. Her questions weren't ignored though, but they also weren't put through as many filters as they should've been in the teenagers absent mind.

"Oh yup, every day," Stiles promised, tapping out a reply.

 _ **To – Sourwolf  
**_ _I do say so. I'm expecting candlelight and everything_

The others were falling into thought, trying to use the information to deduce who the mysterious supernatural was. It was easier said than done and they struggled to put together the puzzle pieces well enough to put a name and a face to the clues. Unable to figure it out, they started asking more questions.

"So you and him are close friends then?" Scott asked, sounding defensive. "You must hang out with him often?"

Stiles nodded then ended up shrugging. "I guess?" he replied, frowning as his phone vibrated again. _That was fast._ He juggled the device in his hands, swallowing back his nerves. "I mean, I see him every day, talk to him every day."

"Oh, okay," Scott fell silent again.

 _ **From – Sourwolf  
**_ _Soft jazz? Wine? Silk sheets?_

Was the room getting hotter? Stiles lifted his gaze and looked around; hoping the heat in his cheeks couldn't be seen. The others were once again sharing looks and biting their lips, trying to figure out who this person _was._

It was almost amusing – their frustration – but Stiles used the distraction to type out another message.

 _ **To – Sourwolf  
**_ _Silk sheets? What do you take me for? I'm not that easy. You need to work a little harder than that._

Okay, so it wasn't the room, it was him.

Resisting the urge to fan himself – he wasn't a teenage girl – he leant back and fingered the phone in his hands, waiting anxiously for a reply. They weren't flirting right? Just friendly banter that was somewhat flirtatious and sexual. Completely normal. Friends talked about faux dates with silk and jazz, right? It was something most best friends did, he was sure.

"So we see them every day and talk to them every day..." Scott was murmuring loudly, seeming to forget the whole library equals silence thing. "But other than the pack I don't see anyone we all really – oh my god..."

"Scott?"

"It's Greenburg!"

Stiles was only stopped from laughing loudly when his phone went off in his hands, twisting the amusement into something warm and unnerving. He ignored the people stammering out denials as he opened the message.

 _ **From – Sourwolf  
**_ _How much harder?_

No.

They were flirting.

Oh god, he was flirting with Derek Hale.

 _ **To – Sourwolf  
**_ _Wear some tight jeans and your jacket and we've got a deal_

"Stiles, why are you all red?"

Starting back, Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to smile. "Oh nothing, it's just you guys sound like dicks trying to figure out who it is," he lied poorly, shaking his head with a small chuckle. "It's funny as hell." Stumbling to his feet, he moved to grab another book to pretend to study from, momentarily forgetting his one rule for the day.

Hide the limp.

"Hey Stiles," it was Boyd that spoke up first, his voice almost mocking. "What's with the limp?"

Stiles froze, slowly turning with a beating heart ready to burst from his chest. "What?" he squeaked, tucking the wanted book under his arm. It was heavier than he thought, threatening to slip out through his sweating fingers. "What limp?"

"You were limping," Boyd said knowingly. "Why?"

"Oh," Stiles looked down to his feet, walking forward again and being careful not to walk unevenly. "Uh, my foot feel asleep when I was sitting down. Got pins and needles," he hurried to explain, dropping himself back into his seat. His phone vibrated in his hand and he yelped in fright, taunt nerves unable to handle the scare.

"Whoa, dude, you okay?" Scott teased.

Stiles smiled, trying to ignore the pointed look from across the table. "Yeah man, I'm fine," he soothed, opening the message.

 _ **From – Sourwolf  
**_ _I always wear tight jeans and my jacket_

Stiles took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he typed out the last message.

 _ **To – Sourwolf  
**_ _Funny that_

* * *

 **I'm just as shocked as you are... Stiles actually** _ **knows**_ **how to flirt? When did that happen? I get that some characters can grow during the show and whatnot but even I wasn't expecting this!**

 **Okay, now this is a late holiday present I guess? Mostly because I'm enduring a too long car trip tomorrow and going on vacation, so I needed to post now in case I can't. Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm leaving you guys!**

 **Next week's update will probably be a day early as well, just so you know...**

 **Taila xx**


	10. Can you smell the thing?

He was sure to saunter with an air of carelessness towards the front door of the impressive house, badge shining and posture perfect as his boots slapped against the paving. The next few minutes, his words and body language included were going to be crucial – but he'd been going over the conversation in his head since that bitter ass coffee that morning.

There was no turning back now – he needed to do his bit. However small.

Lifting a hand, he rapped his knuckles against the front door patiently, turning to survey the area as he waited to be answered. The neighbourhood was quiet but there was, no doubt, nosy people already peeking through their curtains. He knew the surrounding houses well enough to know that much.

Behind him, the door swung open and a male form crowded the opening. "Sherriff?" Chris Argent seemed surprised to see the man, but hid it well under faux pleasantries. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

John smiled back blandly. "You're not in trouble," he soothed mockingly, folding his arms against his chest. "I just wanted to remind you and your _friend_ of some of the laws around here."

Chris hesitated. "My friend?"

"The blonde one," John waved away, acting like the knowledge was nothing. Like he _didn't_ have the man's file on the passenger seat in his car and hadn't read it multiple times in the past hour alone. "I've been told he's been here on occasion."

The hunter nodded and offered up a cordial smile. "Doesn't mean we're friends," he answered tightly.

"Of course not," John tilted his head. "Anyway, I'm not here to discuss your social life – just the law. It's my job after all," he reminded the man, hoping to install some sort of unease. "I wanted to remind you both that hunting in this area is quite illegal."

Chris stilled. "Hunting?" he echoed.

"Yes, hunting."

"What makes you think we're hunting anything?" Chris asked next, hand tightening on the door. "It's not even the right season to be shooting anything – permit or not."

John nodded, turning to look over the neighbourhood again. "Yeah, that's about right," he sighed, facing the greying man again. "Just thought I should remind you. Some animals are illegal to hunt you know? Foxes, wolves... Goes against some sort of hunter's... what's the word I'm looking for here?"

"Code?" Chris offered quietly.

John snapped his fingers, smiling. "Yeah, code," he allowed. "It's not like the animals have done anything to you after all."

Chris nodded uselessly, eyes closing for a split second longer than a blink. He was silent for a few seconds, but the man hovering in the doorway didn't seem to care too much, chest thrumming in pride at successfully ruffling a few feathers. "Anyway, if you've been watching the news; I have a break-in to deal with. Too much paperwork involved with these things."

"Thank you for the warning," Chris voiced as the man walked away. "I'll be sure to warn my – my friend."

"Good."

* * *

Stiles snorted.

Stairs. There were always _stairs._

"Dude, hurry up," Scott groaned, one hand waving in the air dramatically. When the boy made no move to follow him, he dropped onto the top step, propping up his head with his hand. "I know you hate the stairs, but seriously?"

Stiles only made another noise of annoyance, one foot lifting to hesitantly rest against the first step. He hated these stairs alright, even more after the other day, and the mere _thought_ of climbing them right now made his legs ache. Well – his _leg_ ache, because the other was already burning and throbbing up a storm.

"I don't hate stairs," Stiles voiced carefully, putting weight on the injured leg. "I _loathe_ them. I _despise_ them. With every fibre of my being and then some," he grumbled, wrinkling his nose against the pain that spurred to life in his thigh.

Scott only glared back with a perfected blank expression. "Yeah, like I said, you hate stairs," he droned, looking up at the countless other flights they would need to conquer before they'd be at their destination. "By the time we get up there, the pack meeting will already be over."

"Then what's the use of going up there at all?" Stiles questioned, adopting a cheeky grin. "I mean, if we finally get up there, only to have to walk back _down?_ I vote we stay here. Use phones – no, better yet, _morse code_ tapped out on the walls to communicate."

The next look he received was one his best friend had only learnt because it was used on him multiple times. The infamous; _you're a fucking idiot_ look. Not even faltering under the withering look, he only continued to grin, reaching out to idly tap on the walls. He didn't know what exactly he was tapping out, but hey, his best friend was stupid enough to think he did.

"Wait, are you actually – Stiles, I swear that if you don't get moving; I'll carry you."

Blinking at the poor threat – was he meant to start climbing or something? – the dark haired teenager nodded in acceptance. Just as the other sighed in relief and gestured for them to start, Stiles held up both his arms. "Well?" he asked, resisting the urge to smile at the dumb look he received. "Don't make an offer and then not follow through man. It's bad sportsmanship."

"Why are we friends again?" Scott demanded blandly, staring at the twin hands reaching out for him.

Stiles rolled his eyes, waving his arms dramatically. "You mean to say; why have I stuck around so long?" he corrected absently, both brows slowly lifting. "I don't know – and whatever reason it is, is quickly fading the longer I wait."

Scott glared again.

"Fine!" Stiles groaned, shaking his head and beginning to trek up. "You are a horrible friend, I'll have you know. Saying things like that and getting my hopes up only to tear my heart from my chest and – and, that's blood. On the stairs. There's blood on the stairs and now I wanna go back down."

Scott spun, hair slapping against his chin with the action. _Dude, you really need a haircut._

"What?" he exclaimed, jumping down a couple of stairs and staring down at the red drops on the floor. "Holy shi – it must be from the fox," Scott realised, looking up with wide eyes. "I didn't even notice this yesterday!"

Looking down, Stiles studied the brown dots on the concrete stairs, his stomach churning. He didn't need to be reminded of the painful memory so soon and his leg twinged at the sight, forcing his eyes back up. Grinding his teeth, he pushed onward, one trembling hand reaching out for the rail trailing the wall. "Really? That's nasty," he chuckled dryly, eyes falling to the floor and noting more dried plasma. "Oh good, there's more."

Scott was almost worried, throat moving in a tight swallow. "I didn't realise he'd lost so much blood yesterday..." he murmured, hesitating before looking to the boy beside him. "I know you don't wanna talk about it and all but – but have you two been in contact? Is he okay?"

Stiles actually faltered before answering, mouth opening uselessly. Was he okay? Sure, he was having a few dizzy spells if he stood up or turned too quickly, and yeah his leg still ached... "He's fine man. Healed up nicely or whatever," he muttered, waving a hand to dismiss the issue. "He said something about thanking you for that?"

Scott brightened up considerably. "Yeah, I patched him up," he announced smugly. "I used that kit you put together; remember the one with all the different Wolfsbane breeds and stuff?"

Instantly nodding, Stiles continued climbing, pointedly avoiding the occasional smudge of browning copper on the ground. "Yeah, I remember," he replied absently. "Anyway, what's up with today? We had a pack meeting like three days ago? I thought it was like a fortnightly thing, or if something important was happening – nothing against you guys but I have a life. And friends."

"Sure you do," Scott allowed, clapping him on the back. "Oh, we just talked yesterday, wanted to make sure everyone was filled in on the new plan and what not."

Feigning confusion, Stiles sent his best friend a look. "New plan?" he echoed.

Scott only reached up and tapped his nose, a grin tugging at his lips. "Derek will explain," he promised. "I ain't saying anything."

"Well you _aren't_ saying proper grammar, that's for sure," Stiles murmured, sighing as he trailed behind his best friend. The blood trail was thickening, and in the back of his mind he foggily remembered how it was harder to climb once he'd reached such a height. How he'd stumbled more, and yelped louder as the steps became dauntingly high and awkward for his injured leg to manage.

Shaking his head, he smiled at the young wolf beside him as they finally reached the top, the metal door that served as entrance to the loft open and waiting. "Looks like you were expecting us," Stiles announced, strutting into the room with both hands raised.

"Looks like we were waiting on you," Derek corrected with narrowed eyes. "Something go wrong on the way up?"

Looking around, Stiles wrinkled his nose. "Nope, I just don't like stairs very much," he shrugged aside, mentally slapping himself when he hesitated before entering the apartment. "Or at all."

"Actually, did anyone else notice the blood trail foxy left?" Scott demanded, skirting around the dark haired male and moving towards his girlfriend. "It's all over the floor – all dried out and gross," he confessed, nodding his head in the direction of the door and the teenager still awkwardly standing there.

"What, really?" Isaac voiced, shifting closer. "I couldn't smell a thing!"

Stiles left them to it; deciding he'd already had enough of the conversation and _sight_ to last him a life time. Not to mention the memories ready to haunt his nightmares from actually living it a few days before. Shaking away the shiver threatening to pass down his spine, he breathed gently to steady himself, legs carrying him across the loft and body dropping next to a familiar hulking form.

"I'm sorry," he muttered awkwardly, clearing his throat as an argument broke out between the younger shifters. "I should've told you from the start about dad – about the fox – but I was too scared. And... I shouldn't have lied to your face the other day..."

Beside him, Derek had stiffened. "It's okay," he grunted.

Stiles finally faced him, shaking his head wildly. "What? No, no it is _not,"_ he insisted. "You – I – I lied to you for months. I feel like a douche bag! Couldn't you, I don't know, yell at me or something?" he begged, eyes turning wide and imploring.

Red slowly leaked into green. "Stiles, I'm not angry at you – actually no, I am, but I owe it to you to accept your apology," Derek explained, frowning lightly and playing with the phone in his hands. "I should've shown you more trust and been more... _gentle_ , and I shouldn't have stormed away like a child. It was rude and uncalled for, and I wanted to apologize."

"You..." Stiles blinked. "I forgive you?"

Derek sighed, the frown deepening. "You could at least sound like you mean it," he huffed, turning to face the centre of the room with a small pout.

"I'll only say it like I mean it if _you_ forgive _me_ ," Stiles announced, brow cocked in challenge.

Derek shifted, upper body facing his companion. "Alright," he allowed, breathing through his nose before tugging at the sleeve of his dark shirt. "I forgive you, and I understand why you did it, okay? Happy now?"

Stiles pursed his lips. "Eh."

"You're forgetting something, Stiles."

The teenager lit up, whiskey eyes melting. "That's right, I am too!" he grinned, turning to flutter his eyelashes at the brooding man at his side. The brooding male that was wearing tight jeans and a leather jacket. "I'm forgetting the smooth jazz. Or was it the silk sheets?"

 _Oh my, Der-bear are you blushing?_

"Stiles," Derek ground out, pink dusting sculpted cheek bones.

Rolling his eyes, he complied. "Yeah, yeah, I forgive you sourwolf, no sweat," he chuckled, wrinkling his nose again. "You're such a party pooper, you know that? But I must admit, you did come through – I'm liking the jacket, and the jeans although I might be able to appreciate those more when you stand up and walk away from me."

The look he was receiving was not only confused but embarrassed. "I'm not moving," Derek muttered, turning away with a small wince.

"You'll have to stand up sometime," Stiles whispered, leaning back against his seat with a content sigh. "And I'll be waiting ever so patiently. I've got nowhere to be and I used the bathroom before we came here."

Derek's smile was stunning. "But you didn't grab the curly fries that are waiting for you in the kitchen before you sat down."

"Curly what?"

Derek adopted a look of pure innocence, head lolling against the leather couch as he turned to stare at the gaping teenager. "Didn't I tell you?" he asked, pursing his lips in feigned thought. "Must have forgotten but I brought you some curly fries and they're currently waiting in the kitchen. Course they won't be there long, because soon one of the wolves were smell them and then poof," one hand lifted to flick the air. "No more curly fries."

Stiles cheek twitched.

 _The little... smiling... gorgeous shit._

It took him a few seconds to realise he was staring and Stiles tore his gaze away from laughing hazel eyes. "I don't remember asking for curly fries, not that I'm complaining, but I did ask for tight jeans and silk sheets for a reason you – "

"Wait!"

All eyes snapped to the curly headed teenager, eyebrows lifting as the boy held up both his hands in almost panic. "Isaac?" Derek murmured, laughter gone from his eyes and smile slipping from his lips.

"His bloods here... And his scent is leaving the loft – why the hell aren't we just following his scent track?" he exclaimed, inching to the edge of his seat. "We could find out where he lives and finally know who he is because _someone_ won't tell us!"

All eyes now moved to pointedly stare at whiskey orbs.

"I – uh – maybe, maybe that's not the best idea?" Stiles offered in a breaking voice. "I mean, you know, let's just crash here or something and do some homework. Didn't you guys have a new plan or something to tell me? You know? Guys?" he squeaked, looking between them all.

Scott was smiling at him, lips upturned softly. "Stiles, we're not going to hurt him okay? The new plan was to protect him. We just wanna know who he is, and we're gonna find out on our own because you're not going to go against your word and tell us," he shrugged, nodding at the others before pushing to his feet. "Don't worry about it, we all got along pretty well without you. Now come on, I wanna know if it's Greenburg or not."

"It's not," Stiles grunted, looking down at his lap in annoyance. What the holy fuck was he meant to do now? The pack would get a taste for the new scent and slowly follow his trail back through the woods and to his house. Or, better yet, realise that scent they're following is strangely familiar.

The scent of spice and potato wafted under his nose. "Stiles, you coming?" Derek asked, waving the curly fries before his face. "We're not going to hurt him, and he's not going to be angry that you're with us okay? We can vouch for you."

He gently took the small paper bag from the older male, nodding shortly. "Yeah, whatever, let's go," he breathed.

This was going to end so badly, he just knew it. They were going to know – and while he'd been about to blurt it earlier today to his best friend, he wasn't ready. He changed his mind. The others were already crouching around the larger drops and puddles of blood, trying to pick up anything they could from that before moving down the stairs, leaving a panicking teenage fox to follow them.

Oh he was boned. So, so boned.

"You're heart beat is picking up," Boyd rumbled from the head of the small pack. "Is there something you need to be worried about Stiles?"

The whiskey eyed boy swallowed thickly, shaking his head as they emerged out into the early evening glow. He hadn't even started eating the food in his hands, stomach curling uneasily, and the lack of enthusiasm was earning him a few raised brows and curious glances.

"Did I get the wrong kind?"

Stiles blinked over at the frowning werewolf, head already moving to show him he hadn't. "No," he promised, attempting a smile. "No, they're perfect, thank you..."

Derek nodded before moving to take up the front line, nose working as they headed into the woods. Hesitantly, Stiles opened the bag and shoved a few chips into his mouth, habitually chewing and swallowing as he stumbled through the undergrowth. It was a struggle to not only keep up the steady pattern of eating and walking without a limp, but to also pretend he wasn't following the scent as well. He had to make sure his nostrils weren't flaring or he wasn't following the others because he knew where they were going. He had to pretend to falter in his path when they did, and only trail behind them hesitantly.

When the bag was empty he shoved it in his pocket, thankful that there was one less thing for him to concentrate on. They were wandering somewhat aimlessly at the moment, the thick scents of the forest hiding his own spicy smell and he was relieved. If they hadn't been so used to the smell they probably would've already been outside his house with matching frowns of confusion, but instead they were wearing them now; unsure as to why they were hesitating.

"I don't get it?" Isaac muttered, bending down to pick up a random leaf. "How come it's so damn hard to follow the scent track?" he demanded, shaking his head before straightening up.

Stiles didn't answer when some eyes flickered to his form, instead turning to overlook the forest with fake curiosity. They were bound to realise soon – that the scent was one they smelt every day. He was honestly shocked they hadn't already, but mixed with the rich dark chocolate he had in most of his hair and body products; they hadn't clicked that there was a heady spice clinging to his skin.

He gave them five minutes to figure it out.

It was nice to know though that the mind numbing scent of chocolate had thrown them off all this time. That it successfully hid the scent of fox and nature enough that while they were confused, they weren't already pointing fingers. The beauty products weren't exactly cheap after all and trying to live down the fact that he smelt like _chocolate_ was proving difficult. But at least it was worth it.

"I feel like..." Isaac shook his head. "I know this smell."

Semi-worth it.

"Wait a minute," Scott murmured. "I'm the one who made the bet about how the fox met Stiles..."

Derek bent in half, breathing deeply through his nose as they all ignored the thinking teenager among them. "I know what you mean," he admitted, shaking his head and dislodging the scent in his nose. "I _know_ this. I've smelt it before, but when?"

 _About half an hour ago when you were grinning at me on the couch, genius_

Stiles shifted awkwardly, taking a few steps back as they each scented the air and then the ground where they _knew_ the fox had walked. His five minutes were running out quicker than he liked. Sparing the woods behind him a quick glance, he tried to calculate how far he would get if he started sprinting now.

"But _I'm_ the one who paid Derek..." Scott continued, hands lifting to draw idle sketches into the air.

"It's spicy," Erica wrinkled her nose. "But familiar – wait, we go to school with this guy right? And Derek, you recognize it, so you must smell it often enough too... You come into contact with this guy on a regular basis just like us!"

"You're right," Derek noted, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Where the hell would I smell this though? You come into contact with this fox, so the scent could linger on you but not enough for this level of... familiarity. I live with this scent..."

"It kinda..." Isaac hesitated.

Derek gave the pup his full attention. "Isaac?" he questioned.

" _Hey, you cheated me out of ten bucks!"_

The curly headed wolf swallowed, one hand lifting awkwardly. "It just kinda..." he shrugged, fighting for words. "I don't know if it's just me, but it smells like Stiles and not the sweet smell he has from his body washes or whatever, but _Stiles."_

Derek's eyes widened and he turned; ready to question the human member of his pack only to gape at the woods. "Where did he go?" he demanded, taking a few steps forward. The paper bag was on the ground, the boy having dropped it before completing his disappearing act. "Where the hell did Stiles go? And how the hell did I not hear him leave?"

Scott took a step forward, looking around in confusion. "Where did he go?"

A loud chuckle made them turn to the apparently uncaring eldest member of their pack. Peter was picking at his nails with an air of boredom around him, lips upturned and eyes strangely knowing. "More importantly..." he murmured, grinning wider when everyone frowned.

" _Why_ did he go?"

* * *

 **Oh dear, what has happened?! Is this the moment you've all be waiting for? Where the pack finally find out about Stiles' heritage?...**

 **Or am I, the authoress, just pulling your leg?**

 **Tune in next week to find out! Yeah, but you need to tune in one day later, cause this week's update is early as well, just like I said it would be. Hope you enjoy it, can't wait to hear what you guys think! See you next week...**

 **Taila xx**


	11. Dense Little Puppies

Emerging from the dense woods, Stiles fell on his hands and knees, panting for breath as his palms stung from the contact. His leg hurt. His lungs hurt. Everything fucking _hurt._

He'd left the pack in the dust – hopefully, at least – and the ten minute sprint back to the loft had been hell for his injuries and sorely un-fit teenage body. But it had been necessary. His pack was a lot smarter than they looked, and if his calculations were correct then they'd already figured it out. They knew about his heritage.

And he just had to get the hell outta punching distance.

Stumbling over his feet, he hurried to his car, digging through his pockets for the silver keys. His fingers couldn't grab them fast enough, and he couldn't start the car within a heartbeat either which was vaguely annoying. Werewolves were fast and he had about three minutes before they burst through the forest and then cooked him in their little werewolf ovens.

"Fuck, come on _not now!"_ Stiles closed his eyes when his car only spluttered out with a few pathetic heaves. "No, don't you dare, not today, not when I'm about to be stuffed and served as the appetiser!"

As a reply his car wheezed.

"Oh, I hate you so much," he groaned forlornly, absently patting the dashboard. "Come on, for me baby girl. _Start!"_ he begged, revving the engine in emphasis. Just as he was about to get out and start running for the hills, the engine popped and the car rumbled to a start, vibrating under his body. "Oh nope, love you, definitely love you and leaving. Leaving now."

Looking over his shoulder somewhat cautiously – he honestly expected to be meeting red eyes right now – he threw the car into reverse and reared back. He could hear the engine and tyres scream in reprimand but ignored them, instead checking around the area to make sure he was home free before blasting away down the street.

"Right. Cool. So they know," Stiles announced to no one, slapping his hands against the steering wheel. "They know everything. Great. Awesome."

Silence.

"Holy fuck this is bullshit."

Stiles slammed on the break, stopping in the middle of the empty road with wide eyes. He could feel the tremble coursing through his body, shaking his fingers and blurring his vision, but he didn't fight it like he usually did. It wasn't a panic attack coming on, despite the aching wish that it was, but he didn't know what it could be. He was scared but feeling more relief then he thought possible. He feared the next time he saw stubbled covered cheeks and thick hair, but he couldn't bear to wait any longer.

Tightening the grip he held on the wheel, he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the worn leather casing. This wasn't fair – he was meant to be relieved, he was meant to be dancing with the wolves and finally fitting in but here he was cursing every deity he knew.

And he knew a lot.

"Okay, okay, shit, you're fine," Stiles murmured, nodding absently. "If they punch you, heal it because hey, they already know you're a werefox, it'll be fine. Or healing it could remind them that you lied and make them angrier so they punch you again..." he paused in his musings before frowning. "Right yeah, no healing."

His face could take the damage right? If they aimed for his nose though, then he knew it was getting personal. He treasure that damned mole dotted thing. It was his money maker; it was what drew all the girls in. Then again considering how well it drew in one Lydia Martin, maybe he should _let_ them break his nose. Might give him the rugged look girls loved.

What was he thinking about again?

Oh right. Pack. Secret. Future beating. How could he forget? It wasn't like the last twenty minutes of his life had been somewhat life altering and changing. It wasn't like the last _week_ had made it so nothing could either be the same. He wasn't either hours away from death, or about to win an impossible fight against a man with a fox fetish.

No. Course not. Cause that would be weird – and Stiles didn't do weird.

"Oh and that didn't sound like a crock of shit," the dark haired boy snorted, shaking his head and straightening up. He was screwed whichever way he looked at it. "Well done Stiles. Now get home and get into cover before they find you."

Starting forward again, he may have broken a few traffic laws on the way home but it wasn't like anyone was around to catch him. It was after school and most kids were struggling to complete their homework or hiding away with video consoles and books while their parents laboured over papers or stoves. He could break all the laws he wanted.

Well not _all_ , his father had put that much into perfect details – details that he couldn't currently find loopholes in. Damn.

Pulling into his driveway Stiles threw the car into park before sitting in silence for a few inactive seconds. The park beside him was empty, revealing his father was still at work and still had horrible timing and that meant he was alone.

Alone to face the wrath of the fabled sourwolf.

"You're going to die," he realised bluntly, sighing. "You're going to die until you're dead, and that is so much worse when in the hands of the sour one. He's going to find new and creative ways to kill you and then? Then he's going to break all the laws of the universe to bring you back to life so he can do it again – this time in slow motion."

He trudged through the door, locking it firmly behind him before he slumped against it. "And the crowd goes wild," he finished quietly, looking around the house.

He'd wasted more than the three minutes he'd given himself, but adding that the pack now had to get to his house he was allowed another five if he was lucky. Which meant he maybe had about two minutes to lock every door and window, _and_ hide in his closet equipped with a baseball bat before the wolves came howling.

One minute and fifty five seconds.

Stiles moved quickly, locking the back door and double checking the front before moving onto the windows. They were harder to close admittedly; some like the bathroom window were always open and rusted to remain so, so his arms took a pounding.

He was on forty seven seconds as he raced up the stairs, beginning the ritual of survival again.

"Come on, forty three," he chimed, slamming down on the window blasting the study with fresh air. The lock groaned in complaint when he forced it into place and he struggled for a few extra seconds before he was throwing open the door to his dad's bedroom and starting over. "Thirty two..."

 _Get the upstairs bathroom then grab the bat and hide!_

Stiles pushed all his weight into opening his bedroom door and it flew into the wall, no doubt leaving a dent he'd get scolded over later. His mind was elsewhere though, and his body already on the floor as his hands searching under his bed. He'd left the bat where he could easily reach it...

"Stiles, what are you doing? Are you seriously getting the bat?"

Yelping, Stiles tried to sit up only for his arm to be twisted and a cry to leave his lips. "Fuck me," he groaned, pulling out the throbbing wrist, complete with bruising and baseball bat. "That wasn't funny."

Scott shifted slightly under the glare, eyes flicking to the bat in his friends hands. Behind him, the only unlocked window in the house let in a cool breeze. "I didn't mean... Why were you getting the bat anyway? You expecting company?" he questioned, cocking a brow at the tanned wood before swallowing.

"I was expecting something bigger, scarier and broodier than you, that's for sure," Stiles admitted slowly, uncertain how to act around his best friend. The curly headed boy didn't seem angry at him, only confused and remorseful it appeared. "You're not angry..."

Scott frowned. "Course not," he shrugged. "Why would I be?"

"Because I've been hiding it from you?" Stiles offered dumbly, shocked at the sheer lack of interest showing on the other boy's features. "Holy hell, you really don't care do you? It doesn't bother you that I lied? At all?"

Scott laughed, lifting a hand to wave it around absently. "I don't get bothered over much man, and it's not like I didn't see it coming."

Stiles blanched. "You _knew?"_

"Pretty much, yeah," Scott smiled, chuckling again. "Once we worked out the whole scent thing, the others got it too – we're honestly not even angry at you dude, it's not a big deal. Yeah, you should've told us, and yeah it wasn't the best action but you can't really go back and change it now can you?"

Stiles couldn't help but beam at his best friend, the fear and horrid sickness that was swirling in his chest evaporating. All the worries he'd had – all the times he'd told himself that by telling them he was losing them. That he couldn't have one without the other. All the worries had been stupid. _He'd_ been stupid.

"That," he licked his lips, refusing to admit the water gathering in his eyes even existed. "Is about the best thing I think I've ever heard."

Scott moved to sit on his bed. "Yeah, well we already knew you were helping the werefox, so it made perfect sense for you to help sneak it out of the apartment."

 _Wait._

 _What?_

Stiles felt the happiness fade, the stone that had once sat in his stomach returning. "What?" he asked weakly, turning to frown over at the carefree boy. "I snuck what out?"

Scott didn't notice the change in demeanour, and still thought everything was peachy. The grin on his face said as much at least. "Well, we kinda gathered that you snuck it out, I mean the scent leads in the direction of your house and the scent is a mix of yours and foxys so it wasn't too much of a leap. We may not be as smart as you Stiles, but we can track."

"Yeah, you can," Stiles echoed meekly. "So, uh, no one's angry that I – uh, that I snuck out the werefox while you guys were out of it?"

"Nope!" Scott promised.

"Good..." Stiles turned away from the boy, pretending to place the bat back under the bed. The truth of it was that he didn't want to show his face, he didn't want his best friend to see the disappointment and the heartbreak lingering in whiskey pools. It would raise questions he suddenly didn't have the strength to answer anymore. "Uh, thanks I guess, I should've told you."

Scott waved away the apology, reclining back on the double bed like he owned it. "I'll say it again; we don't care," he shook his head, smiling still. The mere sight made Stiles' cheeks hurt. "But seriously dude, you need to bring this guy into the pack or something!"

"Why?"

"He's awesome!" Scott replied, easily like it was the simplest answer. "We really like him, so you can tell him we won't kill him or something. Even Derek likes him and he likes no one."

Stiles closed his eyes and shifted, leaning back against the bed and facing the wall. "Whoa, really?" he asked, feigning shock far too easily. "Derek hates everything and everyone – including puppies. He really hates puppies man."

It was easy to fall back on the usual sarcastic banter everyone always expected from him. Most of the time he didn't even realise he was saying something offensive or obnoxious until it was already out and inflicting damage and causing chaos. His tongue really wasn't his own most days but times like now made him happy that there was no filter from brain to mouth. Because he didn't know what to say.

And he hated it.

"I'm as shocked as you are," Scott allowed. "I think he was pissed at first, don't know why, but he was. Anyway, now he's pretty fond of it. Likes the idea of having another supernatural in the pack I think?"

"He's pretty anti-human isn't he?" Stiles asked.

Scott snorted loudly, more wild hand movements following the sound. "Nah, like he's not going to kill any human he sees but I don't think he likes having them in his pack. A pack has to be strong, and a human would just make..." the tanned features paled a little. "Shit, Stiles man, I'm sorry I didn't think before I said that and – "

"It's fine," Stiles cut in, brow furrowing. "You have a point."

Scott hesitated before shaking his head. "I do yeah, but you don't count. You're human yeah, but you're not weak – everyone knows that," he pointed out firmly, eyes sparking in determination. "Derek wouldn't let you in the pack if he didn't believe that."

Stiles pretended to believe him, plastering on a smile so bright he almost blinded _himself._ "Hey Scott man, if I wasn't in the pack, would you have joined?" he asked lightly, turning and propping up his head on the soft mattress. "Just out of curiosity is all."

"What? No!"

 _And that's why Derek let's me in the pack._

"Thanks man," Stiles chuckled, hating how hollow it sounded even to his own ears. "Wanna hang or you gonna go see Allison?" he questioned next, offering up another blinding smile and lazy expression.

Scott groaned, slumping back against the bed again. "Man, you have no idea how much I wanna shoot something right now, but did you know it's our seven month anniversary?" he asked, pushing back up onto his elbows, a confused expression painting his puppy dog features. "And did you also know that girls take that shit so _seriously?"_

Stiles snorted. "So I take it you don't remember that time Lydia dragged Jackson out of a pack meet because they'd been together for exactly one hundred days?" he muttered.

"Oh, yeah, that," Scott frowned for a few seconds before just giving up and shaking his head. "Anyway, I'd love to start a tournament with you, but I have a dinner to go too," he admitted, standing up with a cat like stretch. "A dinner, might I just add, that is with her parents."

Wincing, even Stiles couldn't help but feel bad for the boy. "Oh man, you have my sympathies," he allowed. "Want me to kill something for you?"

Scott instantly nodded. "Fight for me."

Stiles smiled lightly as the boy moved to vault back through the window, picking his tired body off the floor and back onto the bed. The curly headed boy hesitated, both feet and hands on the sill before he turned bodily, his trademark look of confusion decorating his features. "Why are all the doors locked? And the windows?" he questioned.

"Oh, uh, I guess I'm a little nervous with this hunter bloke in town," Stiles admitted, realising he wasn't exactly lying with the words. "You saw him the other day, he's suspicious and I don't want him using me to get to – uh, _foxy."_

Scott smiled. "All good mate," he announced, dropping from the second storey.

With the werewolf gone, Stiles blew out a harsh breath, cradling his head in his hands. He wasn't sure how he should be feeling – disappointed that the clear sign pointing to him was bypassed, or thankful that his secret was still his for the time being? There was a tight ball in his stomach that screamed anxiety but that had more or less been there for weeks now, growing as the hunters grew closer and his secret threatened to surface.

Huffing, he fell back against the bed somewhat dramatically. His body wasn't helping him decide how he was feeling, and despite the roiling emotions in his mind, he didn't have any clues.

Or a giant neon sign pointing to where the answer was, like the wolves had pointing at _him_.

Stiles swallowed back the scream building his throat, instead pushing to his feet and heading back out the door. He lazily walked around the house, reopening the windows he'd forced closed minutes before with a pout on his lips. All that hard work – wasted on something that didn't matter.

The wolves weren't getting the _many, many_ hints revealed to them. It was like they didn't want to know it was him. Like they were pushing the information to extraordinary lengths just to avoid the realisation that the human in their pack wasn't actually human.

Ignorance was bliss, after all.

He was just settling his body onto one of the love seats when his phone started ringing. "Hey?" he answered instantly, not bothering to read the caller identification.

" _Stiles? You home yet?"_

A smile grew on the boy's lips. "Yeah dad," he promised, shaking his head. "I'm home – where are you? This little disappearing act of yours is getting old."

The older male snorted on the other side of the line. _"_ _ **My**_ _disappearing act?"_ John demanded. _"Oh that's cute. Listen, I'll be back soon, maybe half an hour? Want me to buy dinner..."_

"No!" Stiles barked, pushing to his feet and moving towards the kitchen. "You've already had pizza this month," he reminded the man, rummaging through their freezer. He was tugging out some meat when he replied, voice adopting the same tone as a scolding parent. "I'll cook and you _will_ eat."

" _Yes Stiles,"_ he replied obediently. _"Whatever you want Stiles. Just please nothing nutty and no more of that weird white stuff. I don't know what it was but I couldn't get the taste out of my mouth no matter how many times I brushed my teeth..."_

The teenager beamed. "Not a fan of tofu then?" he checked.

" _No!"_

Stiles hummed. "Alright then, well I'm looking at some mince..." he let the sentence hang, hoping his father would perk up and offer some words of advice.

John didn't disappoint, and as soon as silence descended he blurted out a hearty; " _Meatballs."_

"With my basil sauce then?" Stiles murmured, holding the phone between his ears and shoulder as he bustled about. He hurried to put the mince in the microwave, hoping to defrost it just enough so that he could manipulate it into curved balls. "We only have that whole-wheat spaghetti you hate..."

John grunted. _"I'll live, you can't really taste it with your sauce anyway,"_ he admitted. _"I just complained cause I could. Be home in forty. Love you."_

"Love you too," Stiles replied, moving to hang up and fetch the other ingredients.

Cooking was a nice distraction for his constantly moving body and busy mind. His mother had seen the potential for a lengthy distraction when he'd first taken interest in it and had thrown everything cooking and baking related his way. He'd ate it up – heh, because you eat cooking – and lucky for the remaining two Stilinski's, he'd excelled at it.

Once his mother had passed, the responsibility of cooking had fallen onto his father's shoulders. Luckily, it hadn't landed and moved to their son after the two had come down with food poisoning on more than one occasion.

Stiles could cook. John couldn't.

Absently he began to mix the mince with breadcrumbs, eggs and various spices, not really noticing as he moved about the room. The water was already set to boil behind him, salt peppering the surface and he rolled the meat mix into balls, humming as he placed the near perfect shapes on another plate.

Stiles honestly didn't even realise how much time had passed, mind elsewhere when the front door opened and a bellow of his name echoed through the house. "In the kitchen," he called back, studying the browning meat in the pan.

John wandered in, warm smile in place. "Smells good," he complimented, yawning as he settled against the counter, dropping his work belt beside him. "Good day?"

"More or less..."

The tone made the older male freeze, gun hovering just about the marble surface. "Stiles, what did you do?" he questioned tiredly.

"I didn't..." Stiles sighed, a frown marring his features before he just smiled up at his father. "So, today was... I didn't mean..." he faltered and hurried to remove the meat from the stove-top. "Interesting?" he finished on, sighing as both shoulders slumped.

John accepted the plate pushed across the counter towards him, smiling as his son piled on layers of rich sauce and spiced meat. "You tell the pack?"

"Do I look like I told the pack?" Stiles asked, cocking both brows. "No, they think I'm best friends with their beloved _foxy_ and they want me to get him to accept the pack."

John grinned. "See? I told you that – "

"Scott admitted they only like him because he's another non-human," Stiles bit out. "They like the fox. Not me. I believe his exact words were that they didn't want humans in their pack because they made them weak. It took him a few seconds to realise who he was talking too..."

John stopped smiling, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He took the extra time offered to think over what he was going to say to the boy, realising that the whiskey eyed youth had gone back to his belief that he didn't _deserve_ the group of misfits. "Okay, why are you angry about that?" he asked with a frown. "They don't have any humans in their pack remember? You technically can't take offence to the statement."

Stiles stopped, lips moving soundlessly. "I... I can't, damn it," he realised. "Curse you for making my anger void," he finished with a groan.

"Stiles, I was right, go pout."

The teenager dropped everything to stare down his father, shaking his head in disapproval. The older male across from him was still smirking in victory, already forking together some of the food on his plate. "Right about what?" he demanded.

"Everything," John snorted. " _Pack won't accept a fox._ Pack wants the fox. _Pack will hate me for lying._ Clearly, this pack isn't even angry at you about lying for _knowing_ the fox," he wrinkled his nose and gestured his hand to the fridge behind the boy. "Get me a beer?"

Stiles already had one ready, sliding it against the counter. "I thought I got caught today..." he admitted, smiling at his own stupidity.

"Really, now?" John asked interested, sipping the beverage. "What happened?"

Stiles moved to sit against the counter next to his dad, hands already beginning to animate the story he was telling. "Right, so there was this awkward moment in the loft when..."

* * *

 **Don't hate me. Please.**

 **Everything happens for a reason in this story, remember that okay? Just don't hate me, alright; I did what I had too... Also it's fun to watch you all squirm.**

 **Thank you to all those reading, reviewing and following... Love you very much.**

 **Taila xx**


	12. Truth Exhumed

_The woods just didn't want to end._

 _Stiles swiped at the thick branches, wincing when something sharp dug into the softer skin of his cheek. He could almost hear his skin splitting but pushed forward, absently wiping at the crimson beading on his features while he focused on his surroundings._

 _He couldn't really remember getting out of bed... He did remember dinner with his dad, filling the man in on everything that had happened and then flopping into bed like a fish on land._

 _Maybe... Maybe the pack called? Was that why he was wandering around?_

" _Derek?" he called loudly, grimacing when it echoed. "Dude, is everything okay?"_

 _He cursed colourfully when a vine managed to twist its way around his ankle; taking him down with a sickening crunch. His knees scraped against unseen rocks and blood rushed to the surface as he ripped and tugged at the nature holding him down._

" _Dammit!" he shook his head and continued pulling; whimpering when nothing seemed to work. "Come on; get the hell off me you... stupid..."_

 _With his last sharp breath, the vine fell limp in his hands and his body shot backwards, palms coming out just in time to catch his falling form. Stiles only glared down at where the vine had been, probing the reddening skin before pushing to his feet. He wanted to continue onwards, at least to find out why he was outside again. It was cold and dark and he was far more interested in his bed then the leaves and tree's surrounding him._

" _Guys?" he tried again, patting down his pockets as he wobbled forward. He usually took his phone with him everywhere, so why wasn't it in his pockets? And why was he in sleep pants and pyjama shirt? He always made sure to throw on a least a hoodie before he left the house._

" _The hell is happening..." Stiles murmured, looking around the woods. They were dark and empty, something dancing in the shadows and making unease curl in his gut. "Hello?"_

 _Behind him a branch creaked, and he spun, almost falling over his own feet in his haste. Nothing but shadows. His breathing picked up, throat constricting in a thick swallow when something shone thought the trees ahead of him. Something bright and red..._

" _Derek?" Stiles breathed out in relief, grinning widely. "Dude, that so wasn't cool, now hurry up and tell me what's going on would you? I don't even remember why you called... called me..."_

 _Frowning, he studied the red lights as they came closer, unable to help but back away. Something wasn't right with it. He never felt nervous or scared when he saw the alpha shade of crimson – sure he might be skittish if the anger was directed at him but even then he wasn't ready to bolt._

 _If Derek was making him nervous the most he ever did was dance outta grabby hand range..._

 _Booted feet emerged from the woods before the red lights did and Stiles blanched, backing away with a muted yelp. It wasn't red eyes watching him, but the lights from twin scopes on a dangerous looking gun. It wasn't his alpha coming to his side, but his hunter boxing him in._

" _Hello Stiles."_

 _The blonde hair looked black in the light and blue eyes were peeking out from under dark bangs, following his every movement. It only took him a few seconds to recognize the male and his heart leaped into his throat, feet stumbling out from under him. When the man smiled at him warmly, he absently wondered if he'd had wanted the man's attention if he wasn't on death row._

" _Y-you, how did y-you..." Stiles shook his head wildly, mouth moving as he looked around. "What are you..."_

 _The hunter grinned. "What do you think I'm here for?" he snorted, hefting up the gun he was carrying with both hands. The silent threat made the teenager cower. "I'm not exactly hunting bunnies out here."_

" _Why not?" Stiles squeaked, hands wringing together nervously. The man was slowly stalking forwards, fingers tapping against the steel surface of his weapon. His eyes were glued to the gun, trying to pick apart whether or not it was something willing to kill him or just take him out of the land of consciousness. "I heard that rabbit meat is like, really tender..."_

 _The Collector took one imposing step forward, almost beaming when the younger male scrambled back. "Stiles? I don't care about whatever sarcastic bullshit you can come up with. I'm not exactly here to listen to you."_

 _Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I guessed as much I mean –_ _ **Derek now!"**_

 _The hunter spun and lifted the gun, ready to take out the apparently attacking wolf. With the man distracted, Stiles started running as fast as his legs could carry him – stumbling over every tree stump and his hands pushing away every branch that tore at him. It didn't take long for the man to realise he'd been tricked – who even fell for that anymore? – and soon there were thunderous footsteps catching up to him._

 _Stiles was begging for breath within a few minutes, hands pumping at his sides as the man hurried behind him. He could hear every footstep, every rugged breath the hunter took and each sound grated on his frayed nerves. He was waiting for the burn of a bullet, the sting of a blade..._

 _The..._

 _The pinch of a tranquilizer dart._

 _Stiles started stumbling almost as soon as he realised what had lodged itself into his hip; feet struggling to his lift fully off the ground. "Wha..." he slurred, eyes rolling skywards and his hand slamming against the nearest tree trunk. "You... you did me with the thing..."_

 _The hunter chuckled, moving closer and gently pushing the boy's shoulder. The chuckle turned into a full blown bout of laughter when the teenager fell, landing on his back with wide drowsy eyes staring up._

" _You okay there champ?" the Collector cooed, bending down and slapping his cheek. Stiles slurred back something drunkenly, not even sure what he was saying as he tried to pull away from the abusive touch. "Oh are you tired? Maybe you should have a little nap? We can talk when you wake up..."_

 _Stiles gurgled back._

 _The hunter dropped to his knees, putting the gun down at his side and stroking the cheek previously split open. "Oh, I can't wait to have you..."_

* * *

Stiles could only scream when he woke up.

There was nothing else logical in his eyes, nothing else beside the strangled sound his addled mind could conjure up. There was nothing but the horrifying images of the dream and terrifying shriek ripping its way from his lips.

When his lungs gave way the sound turned to something dangerously close to a sob, and he fell back, body collapsing onto the bed. He couldn't find the strength to control his arms, to pick himself back up and decided to stare at the ceiling instead; mouth open and heart pounding.

"What the actual fuck was that..." he breathed, shaking his head. His eyes slipped closed again and instantly the smiling, no _beaming_ , face of the hunter appeared and leered at him. "Fuck."

There was a distinct lack of pounding feet so the teen knew he was home alone again, and was suddenly thankful for his father's restless work hours. The man didn't need the added stress of a mentally fucked son. He was already trying to deal with the destructive residents of their home and then balance the mortgage on top of that.

Stiles whimpered lightly, but managed to finally push himself up onto his elbows, head falling back and lolling uselessly.

He was scared.

Actually terrified was probably more accurate, but for some reason scared seemed to fit better. He was like a child, wanting some to hug him after a nightmare and – not for the first time – he wished his mother was still alive. He wanted her to hold him and stroke his hair, to tell him everything was going to be alright. Too smile down at him and – and wait.

When did his mum grow bunny teeth?

And have stubble.

And red eyes.

"Oh dammit," Stiles groaned, not bothering to hold up his traitous head anymore. He hit the pillow with a muted thud, the collision not even bordering on painful.

He wanted Derek.

Don't get him wrong, the idea of his mother was still, and always will be appealing but somehow his alpha had wormed his way in. The idea of his mum holding him was calming but the mere thought of being held by stronger and larger arms was admittedly safe. And right now? Right now, Stiles wanted safe.

Reaching out blindly – his hands weren't shaking, _pft,_ your hands were shaking – he picked up his phone, dialling a familiar number before he could chicken out. The dial tone chimed, far too loud for however early it was, but he happily pressed the cell against his ear as he waited impatiently. A headache would be better than a heartache after all...

" _Derek."_

Stiles sucked in a breath. "It's me. Stiles."

There was an audible sigh from the other end of the phone. _"What's wrong with you now?"_ the man demanded roughly, not sounding angry per say but more exasperated.

What _was_ wrong?

"You're..." he cleared his throat. "You're not mad at me right?" he asked shortly, playing with the loose threads on his blankets. "I mean with the fox, and the hunter..."

" _What? You rang me at three o'clock in the morning to check if I'm pissed with you?"_

Stiles tried to say that no, he hadn't rang that early for something so stupid, but he _had._ "Yeah, yeah, I guess I did," he murmured, shaking his head at his own idiocy. "I'm sorry, that was really dumb. I should let you get back to sleep and please, just uh, don't eat me next time you see me."

" _Stiles, I'm not mad,"_ Derek hurried to cut in, own covers rustling in the background. _"No one in the pack is mad at you. The past couple of days have been hell on everyone and if anything, we're confused that you're not angry with us,"_ he admitted. _"We were going to hand your friend over to be butchered but you're the one ringing me at ass o'clock in the morning to make sure I'm not angry."_

It had all come out in a panicked rush, and it took a few seconds for the teenager to not only decipher, but absorb it all. His alpha didn't say such sweet things – for Derek that was sweet – no matter what the situation.

"Thanks," Stiles managed weakly. "Listen – "

" _I just didn't want to lose anyone,"_ Derek continued like the teenager hadn't interrupted. His voice was taking on the rough edge it gained when the forbidden world of emotions rolled into play. _"If the hunter would leave us alone because I handed over someone I didn't know; I would take the opportunity."_

Stiles made a small noise. "That's the Peter in you," he snorted, sitting up further.

" _You mocking me?"_

"Yup," Stiles grinned, rolling over and tucking himself back under the covers. When he blinked he swore he could still feel the sting of the needle entering his hip, but when the warm voice echoed over the phone all he did was scratch the burn and smile. "Why are you surprised?"

" _I'm not,"_ Derek assured. _"Isaac's worried that foxy doesn't like him anymore."_

Stiles' smiled faltered and he sighed. "Foxy..." he let the sentence hang for a few seconds, wondering. Technically he was foxy, but he didn't know if or why he was mad at the pup. "Foxy is a little hurt you're not respecting the fact he wants to tell you his identity in his own time, but he doesn't hate any of you."

" _That'll make Isaac feel better,"_ Derek chuckled softly, the sound evaporating into a sigh. There was the familiar sound of material ghosting over flesh before the man let out another deep breath. _"We won't push anymore; not if the fox doesn't want us too... Isaac is... he's also nervous about you as well, you know? You're not mad at him are you?"_

Stiles frowned in surprised. "No. I'm not – at any of you," he promised, shaking his head. "I feel like, I feel like I can't be. Not after how long I've been lying to you."

If he was whispering what were you gonna do about it?

" _You have every right, no matter how annoyed I am about it. And, I suppose your father is really beneficial to us,"_ Derek growled, as though admitting the boy was right caused physical pain. _"Also, I know you Stiles. If this fox asked you to keep your mouth shut, you would."_

Stiles instantly nodded, tilting his head this way and that. "You know much about foxes?" he asked instead of the questions bubbling about in his head.

" _I'd thought I'd never met one but Peter reminded me that I had when I was younger. The memories a little vague but I remember a couple coming to ask permission to pass through the land, I think? If you want more details, Peter remembers it,"_ Derek offered, voice tired and confused. _"But I can remember the smell – spicy, a lot like foxy actually."_

Stiles closed his eyes, almost feeling tears burn at the corners. Derek could remember what his mother had smelt like, could remember it and smell it on him now. It hurt more than it should've.

He didn't want to dig deeper into the whole; _Peter remembers it_. Not yet. He was content in ignorance.

"You must have seen some strange things being part of such a big pack?" he asked through a yawn. "Any good stories you feel like sharing?"

Derek grumbled something about the best stories being about sleeping, but allowed himself to start spinning tales about what happened in his youth. None of the stories were overly personal, although there were some juicy details Stiles could use against Peter if he had too, so he just listened with a content smile plastered across his features.

Until he closed his eyes in a tired blink.

And then woke up as the sun pierced his lids.

Blocking out the light with one hand, Stiles blinked hard, glaring at his open curtain. "The hell?" he slurred, glancing at his bedside table. The time flashing back at him confirmed he must've fallen asleep sometime during the phone call, well that _and_ the fact his phone was still pressed against his ear.

Yawning, he checked the screen, features taking on a hint of confusion when it revealed he'd been hung up on after three hours. Their call hadn't been that long, had it...

Stiles snorted; half hoping he hadn't started snoring. _I've been more embarrassed before, I could live with sourwolf hearing me sleep talk. As long as I didn't dream about him..._

That made him pause.

He didn't dream about Derek Hale again did he?

Shrugging it away, Stiles stumbled to his feet with a cat like stretch, a low hum leaving his lips. Despite the nightmare he'd slept quite well, and his body was thrumming with energy, mind already wide awake and ready for the day. Which was good, he supposed, seeing that for once he had something other than video games planned.

Don't faint now – Stiles _was_ capable of having a life.

"Video games count as a life," he murmured to himself, shaking his head as he wandered down the hallway. "Actually, when you think about it, they count as like, three? Or immortality, cause you go back to your last save..."

He checked the house before locking the bathroom door behind him and starting up the shower. The usually loud and obnoxious voice in his head hadn't bothered answering his musings, so he stripped easily instead, yawning into his hand again as he dumped the clothing in the hamper. His eyes landed on the clothing already in the basket, mind reminding him he'd been ignoring the household chores.

Wrinkling his nose at the dirtied clothing, he reached out for his heavy scented products habitually, hand hovering above them in uncertainty. Whiskey orbs flickered to the labels, dancing over the names before his palm swept down and knocked the bottles off the vanity...

... And into the bin.

Stiles didn't need to hide his stink. If what his alpha had said was true, then he could remember the same spicy scent on his mother – which meant it was another thing of hers, something her son had inherited. And like his sleek and beautiful fox form, Stiles was ready to wear it proudly.

And ready to save ten bucks a week by buying cheaper products. It was a win-win for everybody.

A slimy and frankly rude voice in the back of his head pointed out that he can't have been proud of his heritage if he was so keen and set on hiding it. Stiles smothered it without a thought. There was difference between pride and shame, and a thick line separating them. He was proud of many things, but he didn't show them all.

His pack for example. He was proud of them all, but he didn't go around sprouting bullshit about werewolves to anyone who'd listen. So, there – pride doesn't equal shame, it just equalled _self-preservation._

Stiles almost snorted at that, tilting his head back under the spray of hot water as his thoughts trailed somewhere darker. Self preservation; the desire and keening need to stay breathing. He clearly didn't have that – seeing as he was trying to take on the hunter by himself and purposefully ignoring the group of in-humans that could help him.

Also seeing as he was happily siding with a group of _in-humans._

Anyone in a pack of werewolves clearly had some screw loose somewhere in their head, and he was no better. Frowning into the hot water, Stiles lowered his head and opened bright eyes, staring at a broken wall tile aimlessly. Was he broken? Is that what he was?

Sighing, he moved to turn the shower off before grappling with the white fluffy towel that threatened to overtake his lithe form. He could faintly smell spicy on his skin, and leant closer to run his nose over his forearm – breathing in as deeply as the foggy air allowed. Yeah, it was there, something heated and rich laced with a more earthen tone...

The thick scent sparked something behind his eyes but he brushed it aside, clearing his throat as he moved to find some of his neater clothing. As he'd said before; he had plans for the first day of the weekend. Big ones.

For once dressed in something other than faded jeans and flannel shirts – that frankly don't even go with themselves – Stiles emerged from his room and hopped down the stairs, grabbing his car keys from the kitchen counter before he spotted it. The creamy coloured note was sporting his father's messy scrawl and he frowned as he read it, hating the words littered across the page. The news that his dad was going to be working longer hours for the rest of the week had his good mood evaporating, eyes darkening in annoyance.

And to think he'd just been getting used to having the man around, to having someone to talk to like he used to before their lives were shot to hell. Before he'd gotten a pack. Before there had been supernatural creatures tearing the town and their relationship apart while managing to make the sheriff's job much more interesting...

Before it all...

Stiles swallowed back the emotions clogging his throat, instead lifting up his phone screen and reading it. "Ten o'clock," he noted quietly, an obedient smile taking over his features. "You'll be open then. Good."

Blanching when he realised how creepy that had sounded, even to his ears, he flung himself out the front door, taking care to lock it behind him. He almost felt conflicted over the words he'd muttered, but took solace in the fact he'd hadn't _aimed_ to be creepy – not like Peter did.

That man had _issues_.

Throwing his lanky body into his ancient car, Stiles revved the engine and was out of the driveway within seconds, intent on heading across town. He had places to be, people to threaten... And by threaten he meant, ask as nicely as humanly possible and hope for the outcome he wanted.

As he pulled up to the vet clinic, throwing his car in park, he realised one couldn't _really_ threaten Deaton anyhow.

"Uh, dude?" Stiles called, gently pushing the door open. His head entered first, eyes scanning the waiting room for any sign that someone was waiting to be cared for. It wasn't like the man was overly popular but there _were_ people with pets in town. "Deaton, uh, you in?"

The stoic man seemed to appear out of nowhere, body suddenly filling a doorway like he'd been there all along. "Stiles," he murmured, nodding with his typical barely there smile. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Come out back, I'm just taking care of a greyhound," he finished quietly, waving a hand over his shoulder in invitation.

Hesitating, Stiles looked over his shoulders before dutifully following the man. "You know why I'm here then right?" he questioned. "I mean you know the whole deal with the Collector and all? Which, might I just add, is bullshit."

Deaton was back to idly petting a long limbed dog, eyes alight with curiosity. "What makes you think that?"

Stiles snorted, moving to boost his body up onto one of the empty examination tables. "Hunter's code shouldn't be letting this happen, you are aware of that right? They're not allowed to just _hunt_ them for no reason. The werefox has kept his head down, that means it's the same respect as a human."

"You've been studying more," Deaton acknowledged, nodding. "But you're right and if it was any other man, any other hunter, I'm sure the supernatural community would all agree with you."

Stiles could only frown, head tilting to the side like a confused puppy. "Wait, are you trying to say that the blonde bastard has a freaking hunting permit or something?" he demanded, folding his arms against his chest.

"No. But he comes from an old family," Deaton tried to explain, pursing his lips and humming at the animal under his hands. He was silent for the next few minutes, probing and checking the canine's rare leg and the teenager remained silent as well, giving him the time needed. "The Collector is an old name – a family name."

Stiles blew out a breath, shaking his head in denial. "So? That shouldn't mean shit."

"It shouldn't," Deaton agreed readily. "But it does. Now, what can I help you with today?"

Realising the previous subject had effectively been dropped – which was annoying because he had questions damn it – Stiles moved on without missing a beat. "I was hoping for all the information you had on werefoxes actually," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "And, since you seem to know a thing or two, this hunter asshole as well if you don't mind."

Deaton finished with whatever he was doing with the placid animal, coaxing it to follow him out back and into a cosy looking cage. He came back into the room after a few minutes, ripping the white gloves from his hands before he ushered his teenage guest through to his office. Stiles let himself be moved, knowing the man had a reason for every single _cryptic_ thing he did.

Which totally wasn't annoying in the least.

The dark skinned man rustled through a plain brown box. "I figured you'd start asking questions eventually," he revealed sullenly, holding a bunch of papers, some pure white while others were browned by time. "I collected all the information I had once I heard what the hunter wanted."

Stiles smiled in gratitude. "Oh, thanks man," he breathed, taking the pile and eagerly skimming over the first page...

... Only to freeze in place, breath caught uncomfortably in his chest.

"I expected you to start asking questions a lot sooner Stiles," the man continued easily, not at all bothered by the boy turned statue before him. "I had thought that with your first change you would've asked your father, and then he would've directed you to me. When my door stayed closed, I assumed that once your best friend was infected with lycanthropy you would've been over here like a shot."

Stiles stared at the information on the page before him, reading over the details of his mother like a starving man. "How did – You knew? All this time?" he whispered, looking up with disbelieving eyes.

Deaton nodded, moving to sit down. "Of course I did," he frowned slightly, lips tugging down. "I was the one who tried to help your mother when she fell sick. It wasn't an easy process and – and I don't understand where I went wrong but... Are you saying your father didn't tell you about me?"

Stiles shook his head furiously. "What are you talking about?" he demanded harshly, ignoring the burning in his eyes. "Where what went wrong? What did you do to her?"

"Sit down Stiles," Deaton commanded, wiping a hand over his mouth. "I did nothing to your mother – the old family name I was talking about, do you remember? It is an old and feared family of hunters, and this isn't the first time they've been in town. A few years ago the leader, so to speak, arrived with his son who was new to the hunting and collecting business. He was training his only son like all hunting families do."

Stiles was sitting somewhat gingerly on the edge of his seat, arms still weighed down by the heavy load of information. "W-what's the name?" he questioned lowly.

"Nobody knows anymore," Deaton admitted. "They've been known as only the _Collectors_ for as long as any records show and people have stopped calling them anything else."

Stiles nodded mutely.

"Back to what I was saying; the father wanted his son to learn the profession like all proud parents would. He deemed hunting down what was then a rare breed of _were_ to be a satisfactory lesson. He took his son to hunt a fox," Deaton announced, pointedly staring at the boy before him, face impassive.

"My mother," Stiles breathed out, closing his eyes with a pained sound.

Deaton was smiling somewhat grimly. "I figured it out and told Claudia that she needed to stop changing, to stop using all aspects of her gifts. And she did," he revealed, looking away for a few seconds. "The older you get the more your abilities will wane with disuse and after a few months of suppressing everything and hiding from the hunter, even I couldn't identify her as a fox. The only problem was that when her body stopped healing itself, it stopped healing the sickness that lingered in her blood."

Stiles didn't – _couldn't_ – say anything to that and kept his eyes closed, ignoring the flashes of memories that painted his lids. The flashes of his sick mother and her weak smile. With a meek nod, he gestured for the veterinarian to continue.

"Claudia got sick, but the Collector's lost interest and left town, believing their target had slipped through their fingers. I told her she could begin to change again, and I believe the first thing she did was promise you that you would both run together that week – despite you not actually having your full form at such a young age."

" _ **Mum? Mum, don't, mummy you have to wake up! Mummy? Mum, no, please... You said we'd go for a run this week, mum? Mum?"**_

"She ended up in hospital that day, and I received news that she died that same night," Deaton finished in a sombre tone, dark eyes shining in remorse. "I'm so sorry Stiles."

The whiskey eyed teenager was shaking his head, eyes firmly closed and mind refusing to listen. No, no this wasn't right, this wasn't happening and he was only finding it all out _now_. Looking away with a choked sound, he spat; "Shut up," to the older male, staggering to his feet.

His mother was over riding his mind, her voice and smiling lacing every hurt thought he could think up. "I don't wanna hear any more," he begged, gasping for breath.

Deaton stood up; worry lines etched into his forehead. "Stiles – "

" _No!_ Shut up!" he gasped, looking up with tear rimmed eyes. "I don't wanna... I don't... Mum..." Strengthening his hold on the information he'd been given, he wobbled dangerously before fleeing the room and then the building without so much as a look back.

* * *

 **Okay, so this isn't the best chapter but I've written it too many times and I'm frankly sick of it. So I guessed I better post it and just be done with it!** **Thank you to all my followers and the people reading this, your support is what keeps the chapters coming and I'm over the moon you guys love reading it.**

 **Taila xx**


	13. Jealous Nephew?

_What's worse? Driving drunk or driving while under the influence of intense emotions?_ Stiles wondered sullenly, strangely unseeing and unfeeling as he stared ahead.

As his car rumbled to a stop at a light, whiskey eyes flickered down to his hands, taking in the way his fingers trembled and left indents in the cheap leather encompassing the steering wheel. The onslaught of emotions couldn't have been healthy for his young, fragile mind and the past week had been too much for his mental state; a path that went uphill only to drop suddenly and leave his heart behind as he careened out of control.

He felt like something was _breaking._

The road before him was blurring slightly the longer he thought, almost as though rain was smattering against his windscreen and he lifted a hand to scrub at his eyes harshly.

 _Deaton_ had known his mother.

 _Derek_ had known his mother.

 _Peter_ had known his mother.

How come everyone had the honour of truly knowing her, while he sat in indecision? What made the veterinarian with no ties to the woman, so much more important than the woman's own son? Why were they allowed to see her smile but he could only dream and then spend his waking hours struggling to remember it?

Stiles hiccupped, looking down for all of a split second before hurrying to look back to the busy road. He could hear, through the glass beside his head, children squealing and their parents laughing but the sound only made him cringe internally. Everyone in this damn town was so happy – so damn pleased with the hand of cards they'd been given in life they seemed to make it their job to _brag about it._

They brought expensive cars, showed off their children at events or threw their wives into slinky dressed and showed them instead. They had the girl, the money, and the general happiness he seemed to be lacking.

Stiles shook his head, blinking hard as he resettled his body in the driver's seat. God, he was pathetic, wasn't he? Moping about and feeling sorry for himself, all because of what? Something he'd gotten himself into? This was all... This was all _his_ fault.

 _He_ was the one that had a hunter on his tail. _He_ was the one that was lying to the pack and _he_ was the one refraining from telling them something that seemed so small compared to everything else that was happening. All he had to do was tell them what he was, and they'd protect him...

His pack wouldn't leave him to the hunter. They _wouldn't_. And he knew that so why he wasn't spilling everything?

Grinding his teeth, Stiles carefully pulled into his driveway, pointedly ignoring the lack of a police cruiser in the spot next to him. The car rumbled contently underneath him and he closed his eyes as he ripped out the key, almost wanted to grimace as silence echoed around him. He really couldn't stand it when all was quiet around him. Some people called it a pet peeve, but he was more inclined to call it something closer to keeping his mind sane.

He wasn't _King of the Sassy Comebacks_ because of his rapier wit. Well he _was_ , but he only said them because if he didn't say anything – if he let the world fall into silence – he was scared his own mind would create a voice to fill the void.

And that was just crossing one of the few lines he'd created.

Letting out a tired sigh, Stiles pulled his body from the car, carefully tugging all the papers with him as he went. He honestly just wanted to leave them there to rot but they were going to keep him alive. He needed all the information he could get – his desire to learn it was irrelevant.

The house was empty, silent, and instantly Stiles took to speaking aloud. "Right so, the cryptic vet knows huh?" he questioned the air, clenching his teeth as he shut the door behind him. "And that helps me how?"

No answer – mental or physical.

He slumped against the kitchen counter, suddenly weary and closed his eyes, unable to keep them open. God, he wanted to talk to someone, or at least hear someone speak. He wanted company.

A brilliant idea flashed behind his eyes, and suddenly a smirk tugged at his lips. _Company_...

Derek totally counted as company right?

Before he could so much as turn back to the front door, his phone started obnoxiously blaring, the alarm cutting through the silence. He hurried to silence it, glaring down at the screen as it announced; _Pack Night_ in all capitals and a stupid font. He'd forgotten about that.

It was somewhat of an age-old tradition – movies every Saturday night – and you could only get out of it if you were dead, dying or both. Not that he'd ever wanted to get out of it but, tonight Stiles find that he didn't want to turn up.

At least not in his current form.

"What's the harm," he wondered aloud, shooting a quick text to his best friend. It explained, in very few words, that his father wanted to sit down and talk as a _family_ and as far as his pack was concerned; that meant he was dying, or at least very close to it. And it wasn't like he was lying either; his dad had already announced that a talk was in order, he just didn't say _when_.

See? Stiles wasn't lying, he just wasn't telling the whole truth. A voice inside his head whispered that _not telling the whole truth_ was what got him into his mess in the first place.

"Oh shut up," he grumbled, shaking his head as he moved to grab the information again. He'd read it later. "Like you can talk mister, you're the one who wanted to go for a run at the worst of times."

No answer.

"There's a hunter after us? I have a genius idea – let's go for a run!" Stiles mocked, moving to climb the stairs with large steps.

He almost wanted to add that the desire to run had flared since he'd got back from the vet's office, but he understood that part. The mention of his mother had made him want to run since she'd died. It was like a defence mechanism. He couldn't face the problem when in foxy form, and having four legs and a tail made him feel closer to her somehow.

He dumped the papers on his desk, rubbing a hand over his neck. "Right, okay, this time we're being careful," he told himself, moving to lock his window. His phone was dropped as well, an unread message from his best friend blaring across the screen. "We'll do the usual routine, but with more super-spy and less-shot-in-the-leg-with-an-arrow."

He bounced back down the stairs, nervous butterflies tugging at his stomach as he locked the front door behind him. As he pocketed the keys, he took a careful look around, making sure no one was in sight and he was in no one's line of sight before he moved quickly. Down the steps, across the road and onto the paved attempt at a conservation hike within seconds. _New record, hell yeah._

Stiles smiled lightly when a jogger passed him, trying to keep his expression light and as far away from robber as possible. The woman still skirted him slightly, but she didn't sprint harder so he took it as a good sign...

 _Right, so normal routine._ Stiles suddenly ducked from the trodden path, bending underneath an old oak before emerging into a clearing. He absently hoped the action was quick enough to throw off anyone who happened to be stalking him, but even if it didn't, the twisting path he followed should've been. He'd travelled this way before, but never used the same path for more than a month at a time, just in case, so there was no _clear_ way to tell he walked these ways.

No one could say Stiles Stilinski was stupid.

Well, they _could_ , but he liked to think he had a pretty good argument.

Finally stopping his kinda walk, but kinda run, he double checked the trees around him before tugging his shirt over his head. There was an empty tree stump a few feet from him, the perfect size for a small nose to poke his clothing into and he'd used it many times. He just had to hope no one knew about it.

He'd worry about it later, he decided, because the relief of four paws was too much to ignore. Smiling, Stiles arched his furry back in a contented stretch, letting out a small chitter as he reached out with paws before giving a bodily shake.

Nothing was wrong when he was decked out in black fur. Nothing could hurt him – _hah, that's amusing, didn't you get shot? –_ and nothing could possibly be frightening.

He was safe. He was home.

Golden eyes snapped open. _Derek._ He wasn't safe until he had the brooding man with him, and he definitely wasn't home if he was by himself, no smirking beta's in sight.

Carefully scoping out the area around him, Stiles pushed his clothing into the tree stump before creeping back to the pathway etched into nature by man. There was no one running or walking, and he stealthily stuck to the trees as he ran the length of the walkway, emerging onto the street near his house again.

If his mind was right, he could make it to the loft within minutes, but the stealth he'd need to show would slow him down. Then again, he doubted the hunter would be looking for him in the middle of the street because really? What supernatural creature would run through town fully shifted?

Stiles cracked a canine smile as he trotted through gardens and backyards alike, peeking around corners before going around them and watching open spaces before bounding across. He was like a shadow – all sneaky and awesome and _holy shit who the fuck has a sprinkler on in the middle of autumn!_

Dodging the water with a dignified squeak, he bounded through a small hole in the fence, glaring over his shoulders. _Bloody Miss Fredrick's and her damned petunias._

Stiles kept his head low, but the closer he got to the loft, the more he became aware of something unpleasant twisting in his gut. Why the hell was he so happy? Why was he smiling, albeit wolfishly, when the truth had been told to him not an hour before? What gave him the _right_ to act like nothing was wrong when clearly everything was?

He faltered at that thought, mind swirling into darker corners when he slammed – literally – into the solution. Shaking his head he backed away from the white washed building, looking up with widening eyes.

They gave him the right to be happy.

Yipping, he scratched at the door until it opened before sprinting up the steps without so much as stopping to glare at them. Yes, he managed to climb the stairs with zero swear words and no withering glares. Yes, he mentally made a list of the things he _could've_ said and maybe counted all the times he missed out on a glaring opportunity but he didn't act on it. And that in itself was quite the achievement for him.

Hell, he even had a tear in his eye. Then again, he'd been sprinting straight up multiple flights for three minutes now and the stale air was beginning to cut into his golden irises.

Narrowing his eyes into slits, he ran faster, skidding to a stop once he reached the top. He didn't know why he hesitated exactly, but his paws didn't move rapidly across the cold floor and he almost backed away from the large door in front of him. His heart was thudding in his chest, but from the run or from nerves he wasn't sure.

 _Toughen up Stilinski._ Grinding his teeth, Stiles lifted his head high and moved towards the door, moving to scratch at it lazily. Someone would answer, and almost as soon as a name filtered through his mind he heard; " _Again?"_ muttered somewhat acidly.

 _Poor Peter, thinking his little lofty has a few cheese loving guests. Totally not the reason I was scratching instead of barking. Totally not._

Stiles grinned as he continued digging impatiently, perfectly aware of the footsteps getting closer to the door. He didn't mind Peter too much, the man knew just where to scratch behind his ears, so when the movement stopped so did he; his paws coming back so he could beam at where he knew the man's head would appear.

"I swear if this is a rat I'm going to kill somebody." The door whirled open, twin blue eyes shooting down to the furry body sitting on their doorstep. Peter somehow managed to look unimpressed with the feral grin meeting him and sighed, shoulders slumping. "Would you look at that," he drawled. "It's a rat."

The grin turned to a glare.

"I'm guessing you're here for the movie then?" Peter grumbled, reaching down and waiting for the kit to walk to his hands. The smaller body was there in an instant and the man straightened, absently patting behind large ears. "They're still arguing about it."

Stiles grunted back and nestled happily, waiting as the man shut the door again and moved to return to the kitchen. He'd been right; they were arguing loudly as a few of them readied snacks, the buttery scent of popcorn heavy in the air. The sight was amusing and the pair of them settled against the door to watch it play out.

" _Everyone_ knows that after the second one, all the _Terminator_ movies blow," Scott groaned, head dropping to slam against the counter. The dull echo that sounded had most wincing in sympathy. "Seriously, just ask Stiles."

The boy in question ignored the way that Peter cocked a brow curiosly at him, apparently doing as the beta had requested.

"Stiles' opinion for the movie tonight doesn't exist since he bailed on us," Jackson argued back, brow furrowed as his girlfriend bustled about him with dips and carrot sticks. "If he was here I'm sure we'd agree with you just to get him to shut up."

Lydia nodded, pushing a celery stick into the blonde's hand. "He's right. I can imagine the rant now."

Scott let out a whine. "Then what do we do? We're at an impasse! Half of us want to watch _Genysis_ , while the rest want the awesome movies with robots and monsters," he enthused, holding up the container and grinning like he was trying to sell it. Around him, most rolled their eyes and revealed to the newcomer that he'd probably been doing that for the better part of an hour. "Oh guys come on! Robots and monsters."

" _Terminator_ has robots."

"Gay robots."

"Arnold is not gay!"

Stiles couldn't help but smile at the display before him, already feeling the numb ache leaving his body the longer he watched. Normally he would've been insulted that no one had noticed him yet, but he wasn't ignorant to the pair of eyes watching him and honestly didn't mind too much that he'd only been seen by one.

He let his eyes flicker across the room. Especially if that one was Derek.

When their eyes met, Derek's shoulders lifted in a sigh. "Why don't you ask him?" he voiced loudly, the usually rough tone of his voice echoing through the kitchen.

All eyes snapped to him curiously, before following his line of sight and moving to the content little body wrapped up in strong arms. Silence fell for a few seconds, each absorbing the sight before it was like a bomb going off; everyone speaking at once while most moved towards him.

Feeling a little overwhelmed, he skitted as far back as he could in Peter's grip, looking up to the man for help. At first he didn't seem keen on helping but when he realised that by crowding the fox, they were crowding _him,_ he held up a hand and stopped their advancements with a well placed look.

"Alright, calm down," Peter commanded, moving to place the kit on the kitchen counter and backing away. "Let the poor thing breathe for a few seconds, yeah?"

Stiles nodded thankfully, stretching out before shaking his paws and turning to face them all again. It felt better to be surrounded by them if he had the chance to escape; not when he was locked in an iron grip. Almost as soon as he'd settled, tail wrapped around his paws, they all moved back in.

"Foxy man, what movie?"

"Hey dude."

"Aw, hey there gorgeous!"

A tentative hand pressed against his spine, and his golden eyes moved to the curly headed boy behind him. Isaac smiled lightly, his hand warm even through the thick fur on his back. "Hey," he greeted shortly.

Recognizing the nervous glint to his eyes, Stiles leant back into the hand and chittered back happily. Seeing as the touch was well received, most moved in to either quickly scratch behind his ears or bop him on the nose, content with the small touch as they dove right back into their argument with renewed vigour.

"Now we have someone to break the tie," Scott realised, bending slightly and holding up two movies. "Dude, you gotta pick one. We've been arguing for ages and no one's budging."

Still leaning into every full body pat the boy leaning on the counter gave – thank you Isaac and your magic fingers – Stiles studied the two movies offered out to him. Scott had been right when he'd said he have a rant ready, but he'd already seen the _robots and monsters_ movie and while _Pacific Rim_ was fun, it hadn't yet seen the newest instalment in the _gay robots_ world.

Reaching out with one paw he tapped the _Terminator_ movie and offered his best friend an apologetic grin when half the room applauded.

"I thought you and Stiles were like twins man," Scott groaned, slumping back. "I feel so betrayed right now."

 _Suck it up princess_

With a pleased sound, Lydia snatched the disc and stormed back into the living room, leaving the others to follow her with hands full of chips, popcorn and dips. Stiles waited patiently as they all moved to leave, watching a certain dark figure from the corner of his eyes as the rest bustled about.

Just as Derek stalked towards the door, he barked once.

The man turned slightly, one brow raised curiosly. "Yes?"

Stiles bounced his front paws on the ground impatiently, juggling his weight back and forth. He barked again when the male didn't make a move towards him and stamped both his feet against the counter as it morphed into a low growl.

Derek huffed out a small chuckle. "Throwing _another_ tantrum?" he questioned, spinning and walking towards him. "I'm not a form of transportation, you know?" he argued, even as he reached out to pick up the smaller body. Settling the kit against his shirt, Derek rolled his eyes and moved towards the doorway again. "Happy now, you little shit?"

 _Oh very._

Stiles almost wanted to purr when a rough hand stroked along his spine in a hard pat, resisting the urge to close his eyes. Gentle pets were all nice and what not but a harsher one was like a deep tissue massage and he couldn't help but lean into it, a pleased chitter escaping before he could stop it. Above him Derek made a small grunt back, dropping both of them onto his usual armchair.

"Got a hitchhiker there?" Isaac grinned, wrinkling his nose when a glare was sent his way. "How adorable; Derek the Taxi service."

The next pat was harder than usual. "Taxi service or not I can still kick your ass," Derek pointed out, slumping against the soft cushion and pouting. "So watch it or not Letterman for you."

Issac let out a dramatic gasp. "I'm sorry!"

"Sure you are."

Stiles offered a lazy growl as his contribution to the conversation, eyes closed as he sat contently on a jean clad lap. He knew it was only a matter of time before he got kicked off the warm legs so he soaked it all up while he could. After a few seconds, his bliss was ruined by the only person who didn't know when to keep his mouth _shut_.

"You know, it's kinda weird when you think about it," Scott started, eyeing up the small kit. "Technically Derek you're stroking another human being and letting him sit on your lap. And we don't even know who it is!" His face went slack. "You could totally be petting Greenburg right now..."

And suddenly Stiles was on the floor.

Glaring over at the now sheepish teenager, he growled in disapproval before turning around and switching his dark look to the man who'd unceremoniously dumped him on the floor. Derek lifted a brow. "Tell me who I'm touching and you're welcome back," he announced with a flourish.

Stiles eyed his lap warily. The man _was_ really warm and smelt pretty good but his secret was his, at least for the night. He snorted and turned around, prancing over to Peter and dumping his body there, glare still in place. The man smelt a little like Derek, and was just as warm; not to mention had the fingers of a god.

"Are you trying to make my nephew jealous?" Peter wondered loudly, cocking a brow but beginning to scratch his neck. "Because I find myself in approval of your methods."

Stiles snorted back, settling down and staring across the room in challenge.

The movie started then, and Derek's eyes flickered to the screen and stayed there firmly, half of the room following suit. _Oh, now you're ignoring me?_ Stiles bristled slightly but didn't move from his place, instead wincing when loud music blared through the room and the hand on his back stilled.

Two hands spun him around, letting him feel the full wrath of blue eyes. Peter hefted him up so his was reclining across his chest before whispering; "That's not how you're going to get his attention _Stiles,"_ into his ear.

Stiles froze. _Maybe not my secret anymore..._

Before he had the chance to truly react to the announcement the beta had made, an annoyed grunt echoed through the room. He didn't register laughter or movement until warm hands encircled his stomach and lifted him up, dragging him back across the sitting area and dumping him onto familiar thighs.

"Shut up," Derek warned, already moving to pet his head. "Say a word and it's the floor again for you."

Stiles nodded absently, but his eyes were back across the room, taking in the smirking form of Peter Hale. The man grinned back at him and used the tips of his fingers to wave ever so slightly.

 _Shit._

* * *

 **There we go, another chapter down the drain and we're getting closer to the big reveal! I'll give you something to look forward to now at least – the next chapter is pure fox fluff because I needed that. This story is too much of a rollercoaster and I wanted something cute in it.**

 **Also, anything you wanna see next chapter? Anything? PM or Review!**

 **Taila xx**


	14. Foxy Goes On A 'Rant-Page'

He could feel the older man's presence long before he decided to speak.

Stiles wasn't able to explain it, but there was something that seemed to loosen in his chest when the man entered the room; like a knot of constant anxiety that eased if he knew he was nearby. He couldn't _hear_ the man come in, couldn't smell the man from the doorway, but there was a sudden lack of fear coiling in his gut – and that was all he needed to know.

Making a small noise similar to a chuff, he turned and sent the dark haired man a curious look and lifted brow. With his shoulders hunched low and feet moving lightly, Derek was quite the sight to see and the light, sheepish smile made it all the more precious.

"Hear me come in did you?" he questioned, straightening up and rolling his shoulders.

Stiles shook his head simply, tucking his tail back around his legs and settling down. His small body was planted on the modest wooden dining table situated by the window, amber eyes taking in the twinkling stars and almost full moon. Footsteps echoed once he turned his back, and a large form was suddenly hovering around him like a shadow.

"Then how did you know I was sneaking up on you?" Derek asked instead, leaning on his elbows. Both his hands brushed the sides of the kit's fur, and absently his fingers twined in the softness. "Spidey senses were tingling?"

Stiles cracked the most accurate grin he could with four paws and a tail, turning to bare his teeth at the man in humour. The returning smile sent his heart racing and he shifted awkwardly, gently dropping his muzzle down again – this time on the warm hands of his companion. _Yeah,_ he answered mentally, letting out a short chitter. _Something like that._

Derek hummed back at him, and for a second the kit swore a nose skimmed across his shoulders but the sensation was gone before he could check. "I came in here to ask you something actually," the alpha admitted quietly.

Stiles lifted his head again, blinking up into hazel eyes. _Yeah?_

"What did he do? Peter, I mean," Derek demanded, swallowing as he looked out the window. "You're nervous about him, avoiding him... What did he do to get you so untrusting?"

Stiles almost barked out a laugh at the accuracy in his words, but also at the blatant lie there. Personally, Peter was one of the people he trusted most in the pack – he was bluntly honest but also unflinchingly loyal if you were lucky enough to earn his good graces – and there was nothing untrusting about how he'd been acting.

If anything, he was trying to give the man reason to stay quiet, which meant he had to _stay_ in said good graces. Stiles had this way of pissing people off, so he deemed avoiding the man the only way to keep him happy. It seemed to be working in the very least.

 _He didn't do anything,_ he chittered, looking to his paws. _If anything it was me._

The dark haired man frowned, clearly not able to read his thoughts or understand his purring replies. "Yeah, do I look like Dr Dolittle to you?" he snarked, lifting a brow. When the kit looked to be contemplating the question, he cut the animal off with a short growl. "Don't answer that. Long story short Foxy, do I punch him or not?"

Stiles instantly shook his head. _No punching please._

"Right, okay, I'm disappointed but I'll live," Derek murmured, reaching behind his body to grab a chair. He dragged it closer with a sound similar to nails on a chalkboard and both supernatural creatures winced. "Sorry," he apologized shortly before sighing and leaning back with a studious look. "If it's not my mentally ill uncle, then why are you hiding in here?"

Stiffening at the demand, Stiles felt his eyes drift over to the kitchen door, picturing the small doggy pile beyond the open archway. Everyone had fallen asleep a while before, mostly piled together in a tangle of pale limbs and an awkward closeness that seemed entirely natural. He'd been in said pile, firmly tucked near soft curls as Isaac used him as a scarf and teddy bear, but he'd been unable to sleep.

All that had been going through his mind was; _Peter knew_ and _Why isn't he mad at me?_ It had been hard to sleep with the mental words running laps in his head...

"Foxy?"

Amber eyes snapped to hazel and the small kit offered up a make-shift shrug as answer. It wasn't a helpful one, or even really an answer at all, but it was all he had.

Derek frowned again, and the corners of his lips creased deeply. _Don't frown, you'll get wrinkles._ The man opened his mouth but stopped short and snapped it shut; turning to glare out the window like the moon was the cause of all his problems. Stiles studied him for a few seconds before the man seemed to snap.

"Who _are_ you?" Derek demanded, almost harsh in the words. A hand lifted to card through dark locks, their owner looking impatient and almost worried. "The other day, when we found your trail I thought we had you. I thought we had _something_ but..."

 _You did. You just didn't_ _ **want**_ _to see what was in front of you._

"But it was Stiles," he continued, voice dropping to a mere murmur instead of the loud outburst from before. "When Isaac pointed that out, I thought that it was... I thought _Stiles_ was..."

 _And what did you do about that?_ Stiles settled again, this time facing the other with alert ears. The werewolf was conflicted, that much was clear judging by the white knuckles in black hair and almost wild eyes, but what was he so hung up about?

Derek huffed, leaning back further when the fox came closer. "I almost hoped that..." he cleared his throat, shaking whatever he'd been about to say away with a quick movement.

 _No! What were you hoping!_

"Should've known he'd sneak you out," Derek grumbled, clenching his teeth. "It's so like him to help anyone and everyone who needs it. Answers a few questions as well, I guess, like why he always had the spicy scent. It's unusual for humans to smell like nature, unless their occupation or living habits would induce that but Stiles can barely stand the outside world so... I honestly thought you were him. I'm sorry about that I guess?"

Stiles made a small noise back, not sure if it was accepting or disappointed. Damn his stupid and clueless pack. Why were they so useless in anything that required logic and thinking?

"Also why you were outside his house that day," Derek continued, frowning at his hands. "Alright I'm done. Come on, let's go back to sleep."

 _What? No!_

Stiles physically leant back in shock at the exclamation, firmly deciding he couldn't let his alpha go to bed looking like someone had killed his puppy. And he wasn't tired. He'd been a few minutes earlier, before the man had come looking for him but now he was wide awake and almost energetic...

Derek stood and gestured with his fingers for the kit to follow him, but amber eyes were glued to the wiggling digits. _You know what? Fuck it._ Leaping forward, he lightly nipped the pale fingers before darting back and hunkering low, tail swishing in the air.

The alpha froze, slowly turning to look at his reddening fingers.

Stiles looked too; because hey it was better than looking his possible murderer in the eyes and saw he may have bitten harder than he thought. The shallow wounds on the werewolf's fingers were already healing; closing together neatly and leaving their reminder in the form of a few beads of blood. He swallowed and looked back up, meeting bright eyes.

Derek had both his eyebrows sky high, and his mouth was both twisted in confusion and lifted by humour. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached out and used the same finger – blood and all – to bop the fox on the nose.

And Stiles couldn't help it. He sneezed.

Laughter stopped him from feeling embarrassed and he looked back to the man with all the indignation he could muster. _So that's how you wanna play, you little..._ Bouncing to the side quickly, Stiles caught the wolf's attention with the rapid movement and Derek's free hand snapped to where he thought the fox was going to bound too. But the smaller body was already latching onto the guilty fingers from before, both paws lifting to wrap around the palm and keep it in place while he gnawed.

Stiles could feel his alpha shake his stolen hand in amusement, half heartedly trying to dislodge the parasite nibbling on him. He growled in response and bit harder, bounding back before going in again.

"Having fun there?" Derek asked, mirth lacing his voice as he roughly took his hand back. When the kit froze, his hand did as well, the only movement the slightest wiggle of his fingers. "Come on, I'm expecting better from you but you can't even get my hand? Disappointed..."

Stiles let out another growl, hunkering down and narrowing his eyes. He'd get those damn fingers if it was the death of him. He bounced forward lightly, but the elder was already shifting them and he tried to keep up; changing directions as quickly as he was needed too.

Derek grunted when sharp teeth attached themselves to his wrist. "You're quick," he complimented, shaking his whole arm as the smaller body worked its way up. "But, you forgot that I have two hands..."

Before he could comprehend that statement, warm fingers were tucking under his stomach and lifting him up, effectively making him drop the skin he'd snatched. He let out a small yelp, and started furiously wiggling in hopes of getting free but soon two hands were holding him above hazel eyes.

"I win," Derek rumbled, grinning when the black and rust coloured body moved in a sigh. "Oh don't pout; you did pretty good for such a little thing."

Stiles moved his head in acknowledgement before he perked up. _Round two?_

* * *

He'd never realised before, but Derek had really broad shoulders.

Actually no, he was lying, he'd noticed but he'd never comprehended just how perfect they were. They accompanied his muscled and slim physique perfectly, but they were also something even better as he was learning.

Derek's shoulders were the perfect perch.

Swatting as the man shifted and moved the bacon to another plate, Stiles let out a whining growl when none was moved to _him._ The delicious and greasy smell was drifting to his nose, and making his stomach erupt but he was being denied the unhealthy goodness. It was despicable.

"Stop it," Derek commanded roughly, but not harshly. "You'll get some when everyone else does," he continued, forking more onto the platter.

Stiles eyed it hungrily but settled again, happy to wait since it meant he was at least getting some. His transportation – Derek taxi all the way – was content to putter around, cooking an array of breakfast foods for his pack, all with a small passenger on his shoulders and continued to do so until the others woke up from their popcorn and pizza induced comas.

Apparently great minds think alike, because twin hazel orbs were shooting to the doorway. "They waking up yet?" he pondered, attention snapping to the kit reclining around his neck like a boa. "I thought bacon and waffles would've done it."

Stiles just grunted back, neglecting to point out that if it hadn't been for his alpha, he'd probably still be asleep as well – bacon be damned. He'd only woken up because his pillow, blanket and mattress had decided to move and make said bacon. _Curse you Derek for being an early riser._

"I might get you to wake them up soon," Derek threatened, his lips tugging up in a smile. "In the most creative way you can think of, I'll leave that up to you."

Stiles made a happier sound back, leaning forward slightly to press his nose against the pulse point. A spatula came up to absently and half heartedly swat at him and he smiled, shifting his attention to the thick material he was warming under his body.

He was nibbling a hole in the dark colour when the first wolf stumbled into the kitchen.

"'Rek?" Isaac murmured, yawning with a small – and frankly adorable – eye rub.

The alpha turned his upper body and smiled shortly in greeting. "Morning Isaac," he answered softly. "Sunny side up as per usual?" Once again, the spatula came up to smack a small black snout. "You. Stop chewing on me."

Isaac perked up, more awake when he noticed the smaller kit. "Oh, hey Foxy, didn't know you were still here," he smiled, head tilting to the side and bed mussed curls falling into his eyes. "Thought you would've scampered out by now or something? Derek's cooking make you stay?"

Offering up an eager yip, he relished in the smile and chuckle he earned before turning to smugly look at his taxi service. _Hah, bitch I can make him smile._

"Be nice or you're finding a new perch," Derek warned lowly, lifting a brow when the kit cuddled back into his neck and wrapped his tail around the both of them. "Just what I thought."

Another voice joined the fray. "You know, I remember the days when you wanted to be a pirate," Peter quipped, smiling almost fondly as he moved towards the pair. One hand came away from his body, going to scratch under the fox's chin and said animal invited it happily, letting out a rumbling purr. "Nice parrot genius."

Derek rolled his eyes, but his annoyance wasn't genuine when he said; "Yeah whatever, take that to the table would you?"

"Done deal," Peter decided, already sneaking some bacon into his mouth. "Junior, you want in?"

Ignoring the pointed look from his alpha, Stiles happily leant forward and opened his mouth, accepting the meat without a second thought. With another quick pat, the man was going towards the table and offering it to the sleepy beta in hopes of waking him up a little more. Amber eyes watched them interact for a few seconds before sizzling on the stove caught their attention once more.

Derek felt the eyes and sighed, looking to his guest. "Isaac likes eggs on toast before school," he explained quietly, careful not to pop the bright orange yolks on the pan before him. "Apparently I make them so delicious he prefers them every day. But only I'm allowed to make them otherwise he turns up his nose like a spoilt child."

 _Explains why when I'm on breakfast duty he sticks to the pikletes._ Stiles nodded, continuing to participate in the conversation despite being unable to answer.

"You go to school with him right?" Derek continued, still as quiet as before and almost unheard above the rumbling of the stove's fan. His attention went from his cooking to the informant parrot on his shoulder. "Is he going okay?"

Stiles almost wanted to melt at the adorable sight before him but stayed cool, meeting hazel eyes determinedly. It made sense for the alpha to be worried – it was no secret to the pack, what had happened to their youngest beta – but it didn't make sense for him to turn to the outsider in the situation. Hoping to convey his confusion, he shifted about awkwardly and made a few chitters and yips.

"Stiles trust's you," Derek answered primly. "And he's a hard one to win over. I trust you. For now."

 _How touching..._

Shifting again and using both his front paws to find footing, Stiles made a few quick purrs before juggling his weight about and beginning his spiel of chittering replies. _Isaac's okay, I mean, he's all smiles at school and the like but sometimes he just stops. Stops and stares at nothing... like... I don't know, but when I see him do it I try to include him again and make him smile. I don't like his frown, you know?_

A warm hand on his back made him snap back into reality, catching curious brown eyes staring into his own. "What's got you so riled up?" Scott asked in amusement, missing the way his alpha ducked his head and returned to cooking. "Sounds like you were ranting about something, mate," he noted, reaching out to pinch a piece of toast.

Stiles huffed lightly. _Wasn't talking to you dude,_ he griped, _I was having a moment with tall dark and handsome over here and you kind of ruined it. It's not often our brooder opens up, and it's even less often that he does it to_ _ **me.**_

Scott used the buttered toast to point to him. "You're ranting again."

 _Yeah well, you have morning breath._

"I may not be fluent in fox," Derek started, cocking a brow. "But my gut's telling me that was an insult."

Stiles nodded eagerly and turned to bump his nose against the dark haired male's stubble covered cheeks in gratitude. Beside them both, his best friend let out a bemused moan before wandering to the table, already engaging the half asleep beta in conversation as he happily nibbled on his toast. Left to his own devices again, the fox moved onto said stubble when he noticed the itch on his nose.

It only took a few experimental bats for his alpha to sigh. "What are you doing now?" Derek demanded, not moving his head but allowing his eyes to snap to the smaller body. "It's facial hair, don't get jealous."

 _Jealous? I could grow a beard if I wanted,_ Stiles snorted and leant closer, peeling back his lips so he could nibble at the short hair. Instantly he shot back and made an annoyed sound. _The fuck is that?_

"Having fun?"

Stiles made another – hopefully – dangerous sound before he leant forward and tapped the hair covering his chin. He heard the phrase _stubble burn_ before, but the actually sensation of it was different than the words had made him picture. It didn't _burn_ per say, but it wasn't soft either. Like a mixture of coarse and silky and –

"I can practically hear you thinking up there," Derek mumbled, moving away from the stove at long last. "What are you doing? Writing an essay on the pro's and con's of facial hair?"

 _Actually wondering what stubble burn is like, but close._

A few more nibbles later and he got bopped again, square on the nose. "Stop," Derek commanded, rubbing at his cheek furiously. "Tickles like hell," he grunted next, eyes the only warning the kit needed to know to never bring those three words up again. "Breakfast is ready, so go wake everyone up would you?" One hand encircled his stomach and boosted him up before dropping him carefully on the floor.

Stiles wanted to salute but bounded through the open doorway, intent on the puppy pile by the couch. Derek had told him he could wake them up however he saw fit... Hoping onto the couch, he carefully made his way across the back of it, staring down at the red headed beauty complete with eye mask and sleepy pout.

 _Lydia!_ He dropped down onto the female's legs, freezing when she murmured. _Come on Lyds, we have food for you!_ _Unhealthy and against your diet foods!_ His paws made quick work of getting to her face, and he stared at the eye mask in annoyance. How the hell was he meant to get it off? Hesitantly he raised a fluffy paw and began to bat it gently.

"Ugh," Lydia stirred as the batting was nearing the one minute mark. "What?" she grunted, pale hands coming to lift the mask from her eyes. When she saw golden ones staring back she managed a short smile. "Oh hello, breakfast ready?"

Stiles nodded before jumping from her chest and moving onto another sleeping youth. It was Jackson – his personal favourite of the pack – and he was happily situated by the couch, on hand gently resting under his head while the other was boosted up and placed by his girlfriend. Hopefully he looked over to said girlfriend before looking back down.

"What do you want me to do?" Lydia sighed, sitting up and stretching.

 _How do you mime a slap?_

Lifting a paw, Stiles began to tap it against the sleeping boy's face lightly. With another sigh, the red head leant forward and placed a determined slap against the youth's cheek. It wasn't harsh but it wasn't light and as the boy shot up spluttering, Stiles fell to the side with rumbling laughs. _Comedy gold._

Jackson scrubbed at his cheek, adopting the perfect look of betrayal. His girlfriend snorted, pushing to her feet and beginning to head towards the kitchen. "Get up," she demanded.

"I'll get you back," Jackson growled, glaring down the fox as he pushed to his feet and followed behind the woman.

 _Oh, I'm quivering in my boots._

Bouncing over to the dark haired hunter next, he snuffled against her eyelids and waited patiently for her to stir. "Wha?" Allison slurred, brown eyes fluttering open and staring down the gold ones nearby. "Oh hey, you still here?"

Stiles nodded and pushed his nose under her neck, coaxing her into sitting up. With a groan she complied, rubbing her shoulder with a wince and small smile. "Remind me not to sleep on the floor," she grumbled, rubbing her eyes furiously with one hand while the other came out to stroke between black ears.

 _Allison, don't sleep on the floor,_ Stiles chirped, tilting his head and letting his tongue loll out of his mouth.

Allison sent him an unimpressed look, lips twisted. "Oh hardy har, you're so _funny_ ," she drawled, pushing to her feet. With a yawn she wandered into the kitchen and left him to wake up the remaining members of the pack.

Stiles turned; ready to use a certain man's stomach as a bouncy castle only to find he was already awake and alert. Boyd was on his feet already, popping out his back with a small, almost unnoticeable smile. "Breakfast then?" he mumbled, nodding as he wandered past the animal on the floor.

 _Well darn, there goes my fun,_ he grumbled mentally, cautiously tiptoeing over to the sleeping blonde. Erica was still unconscious; lips slightly open and fingers clutching where her 'not-boyfriend' had been lying a few seconds prior. He almost didn't want to wake her up. Lying down next to her, he rested his nose on her neck and chittered a few times, hoping the sounds would wake her up so he wouldn't have to resort to violence.

Violence as in furiously digging into her stomach or using her chin as a nibbling post.

 _Batwoman! Wake up!_ His latest chitter turned to a howl, the broken sound echoing as he tried to wake up the stunning blonde before he started chewing. Scrambling was heard in the kitchen, but he ignored it, focusing on the bright eyes as they flitted open dreamily.

"Foxy?" Erica smiled and leant up, planting a kiss on his nose. "My little alarm clock huh?" she questioned, yawning as their alpha scrambled into the room behind them, worry etched onto his face. "Oh hey Derek, what's up?"

Derek calmed, tension draining from his shoulders. "Breakfast," he announced dryly. "Come on."

Erica nodded and grabbed the small animal, holding him against her chest as she pushed to her feet and stumbled into the kitchen. The fox was happy for the lift and turned in her arms, both front paws resting against her collarbones as he started talking happily, chittering and chirping to the blonde as they walked.

 _How do you manage to look pretty while you sleep? I'm pretty sure I drool. Maybe snore. I know for a fact I sleep talk, which is one day gonna bite me in the arse, I just know it,_ Stiles sighed and bumped her chin when she nodded. _What if we're here and I say something stupid!_ He stopped his monologue and widened his eyes. _What if I already have? Oh shit._

"I know how you feel," Erica murmured, chuckling at the constant sounds and movement from the body in her arms.

Stiles sent her a disbelieving look. _Oh please, like you know. Boyd already knows that you think he's hot and like his butt and all. But you know who doesn't know I admire their butt? Derek. He doesn't know. And with his wolfy hearing, if I so much as_ _ **mutter**_ _how much I admire the booty while within twenty feet, he's heard and there goes all my hard work of getting the little bastard to like me!_

Erica rolled her eyes, carefully lowering them both into the rough wood of a dining chair. "I already told you I understand your pain, stop with the ranting," she purred, leaning down to kiss his nose again. "But I agree. Derek really needs to make more bacon."

 _More bac – Woman you weren't even listening to me!_ Stiles leant back and lowered his ears, managing the most affronted look humanly – or foxily? – possible. Why did no one ever listen to him when he ranted? He had good rants.

Right?

"You look pissed," Erica sighed. "I'll trade you bacon for forgiveness?"

Stiles snorted and moved away from the female, ignoring the offered treat as he marched over to the one who'd already shared. The older beta rolled his eyes when the animal moved his way, but pushed his plate out and gestured to the bacon on the side. "Dig in," Peter drawled sarcastically. "I live to serve."

Only pinching one piece – he wasn't stupid – Stiles moved back and sat down, holding the meat between his paws and chewing wildly on it. It stayed that way for few minutes; silence echoing – and occasionally broken by growls when a certain fox tried to pinch more food – as the pack filled their stomachs with the glorious meal before them. It was quite the spread and idly he noted that Derek really was a catch and a half, being not only gorgeous but an incredible cook as well.

"Anyone want some coffee?" Lydia offered, wandering over to the machine in the corner. "Or just me?"

Almost wanting to say that he did, Stiles held his tongue when he remembered that not only couldn't he drink it the way he was, but the clearly _him_ move could raise a few brows. The pack were already saying how alike he was to the fox...

Going back to his bacon – thank you Isaac – he didn't notice when the red head froze suddenly, her cup falling to the ground and shattering on impact. The room surged with movement, everyone spinning but not daring to do anymore as the genius opened and closed her mouth, eyes flitting about but not landing on anything in the room.

"Lydia?" Derek slowly rose. "Lydia, what are the voices telling you?"

The red head was trembling, mouth open and eyes beginning to brim with water. "They – oh god," she choked, stumbling back and hitting the counter. "They're saying that Stiles is dying."

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

But everyone heard the loud and thundering footsteps getting closer to the loft, and the sing-song voice crying out; "Hello my puppies!" as the door opened and the scent of the hunter slammed into their nostrils.

* * *

 **Here we are my lovelies, I hope you enjoy it. If I got any information wrong, I sincerely apologize but I honestly have no clue as to how the banshee abilities work...**

 **I really need to catch up on the actual show, don't I?**

 **Taila xx**


	15. Red Riding Hood

It was his name...

The voices were chanting _his_ name...

And, if all they'd learnt in the past year together was correct; that meant he was going to die. If the pack's beautiful wailing woman was hearing his name that meant he'd effectively signed his own death contract by lying and cheating. He was going to die because he was too damn good at _keeping secrets._

He felt a shudder run down his spine, sticking his already lifted fur on end when the thought travelled through his bones. He could see it on his tombstone now – _Stiles Stilinski; dead 'cause he was stubborn as fuc –_

"It's getting louder," Lydia whispered, her lashes fluttering wildly as she struggled not to fall down weeping. "T-the voices, they're getting louder," she murmured, voice the epitome of _broken_ as she stumbled backwards, one hand lifting to clutch her head. She almost looked pleading as she gripped her hair, eyes flickering over to the small, quivering form on the table top.

The fox was shivering, curling into a small ball when he felt her eyes, his own frightened golden orbs snapping up to take in red hair and pale skin. _Help me Lyds._

Lydia wasn't sure what made her snap into action – if it was the sight of wide fearful eyes, or the sound of thundering footsteps growing closer – but she moved fast enough to feel the wind whip through her hair. "Come here," she snapped quickly, hefting up the furry form with something akin to panic.

Stiles let out a muffled yelp when he was grabbed around the middle by twin hands, paws scrambling for purchase against the empty air before he was suddenly plummeting _down._ It took him longer than it should have frankly, for him to realise he was effectively being thrown into hiding; emphasis on the whole thrown thing. He hit the ground harshly, pinpricks of pain shooting up his legs, before a foot was coaxing – and by coaxing he meant _shoving –_ him under the free-standing oven.

He'd just huddled in the small gap, tail wrapped around his body, when the voice rang out. "Hello, my lovelies!"

In the same instant, he stopped scrambling against the cold flooring, suddenly cautious of every sound he made with tiny claws. The words echoed in his head, bouncing from wall to wall sadistically as he tried not to focus on the scent of fear and panic that littered the air like a thick smog. His eyes scrambled for any sign of the man as he waited for someone to answer, golden orbs lighting up in humour when the familiar voice sounded harshly.

"And what the hell do you think you're doing?" Derek demanded, the growl evident through the barely calm tone. "I don't recall sending you an invitation, _lovely."_

The hunter let out a loud laugh, apparently undeterred by the heavy warning carried on the creature's voice. "I thought you lot would want to be kept in the loop is all," he defended, words growing louder with every passing second. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"You just waltzed into the wolves den. And you meant nothing by it?"

 _Ah Peter, your levels of sarcasm are not like us other unworthy mortals. I would bow down if it wasn't for the fact that I'm about as low to the ground as humanly possible. Quick shout out to Lydia for that, since we're on the topic._

Boots hit the ground, coming closer to where he was huddled. "I thought we were on the same side here?" the hunter asked innocently, feigned confusion lacing his voice. "I don't mean any harm."

Stiles could almost hear the retort brewing in the older beta's mind, and mentally prepared himself so he wouldn't laugh out loud when it hit the air. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or thankful when their alpha cut in with his usual rough tone, words more cutting than anything his uncle could've dreamt up.

"You're lying."

Silence echoed, sounding almost dangerous after the announcement. Stiles could almost taste the tension in the air, mind somehow managing to picture the smile that would be lighting up the hunter's face right now. The familiar sight from his nightmare made a shudder run down his spine and he buried his small body deeper under the stove, wincing when his back legs began to cramp up.

"Oh, _am I?"_ came the taunting reply.

A growl echoed after that, but he couldn't pinpoint where or who it had come from, the sound bouncing off the walls and hard flooring. Surrounded by the snarl, he felt his muscles relax again, no longer aching sharply with every second.

"What do you want?" Derek's reply was a few seconds after the growl stopped, and his voice was thick with anger. It could've been him to let loose the sound, but at the same time he could've just scolded one of his pups for it – he couldn't decide. "To unsettle us? Annoy us? Make us scared of your boy-next-door routine?"

The hunter snorted, almost amused. "No, but I thought you would want to know that I've narrowed down the playing field a little more," he announced smugly, voice ringing with pride. "Let's just say that I'm now down to only a few names."

"Congratulations, now you'll have to forgive me but I forgot to bake a cake."

Stiles looked down, golden irises flickering in amusement. _God damn it Peter, you sarcastic piece of shit._ The fox quickly sobered when another growl echoed, this one laced with something dark and commanding. _Alpha._

"So, you'll be out of our hair when exactly?" Derek demanded lowly, somehow managing to sound uncaring about the fox's potential death.

"What's the date today?" the hunter mused for a few seconds, answering his own question. "Twenty-fifth? If that's the case then I'll be gone by the end of the month, I promise. Then you can continue with your little lives without having to look over your shoulders every five seconds. How does that sound?" he mocked, and it was impossible not to _hear_ the grin in his voice.

Stiles shuddered.

"Just..." Derek stopped, and remained silent for a few seconds. "Just how close _are_ you?"

The hunter made a small sound, something torn between light hearted amusement and dark pride. "Oh, I'm pretty close," he murmured. "Pretty damn close, if I do say so myself."

Footsteps sounded again but this time they stopped rather suddenly; situated directly before the oven. _Fuck me._ Stiles held his breath for a few painful seconds, heart pounding a hole in his ribcage. It hadn't hit him before but now his chest was aching like he'd been run down by a four wheeler.

The voices. The man not three feet from him. His fur.

This was the end.

"Thanks," Derek growled dryly, the sound of a chair scraping against the ground echoing. "I appreciate you invading my home to tell me how you're about to kill a child, but I would like you to leave now. I'm trying to eat my breakfast."

The boots didn't move, if anything they seemed to creep closer to his cowering form. " _Kill a child..._ " the hunter mimicked, the oven creaking as he leant against it lazily. "You know, you're starting to sound like that human boy of yours. With all his talk of _butchering innocents."_

Stiles' eyes slipped closed. _Are you_ _ **trying**_ _to piss him off? Because if you are; comparing him to me is the sure fire way to do it._ Swallowing back more of his fear, he opened his eyes again and looked dead straight ahead of him. The hunter was still there, one ankle crossed over the other as he reclined against the oven like he owned the place.

"Maybe I'm finally seeing some logic?" Derek offered.

"Logic? _Logic?"_ the hunter cackled. "Oh gods, do you actually think you have any logic in that canine head of yours? If you did, you wouldn't have a human in your pack in the first place."

For the third time that night, silence fell like a blanket over the room.

Derek growled and heavy footfalls hit the ground. "You don't think a human is a logical choice?"

"Oh, I _know_ it's not and so do you, Hale," he announced. "I can see it in your eyes. Think about it; if I thought, even for a second, that you were hiding this fox from me, that boy would be who I went for and you know it. Little ol' Stiles is your weak link," the hunter sighed, almost managing to sound disappointed. "Honestly, why is he even part of your clique?"

Stiles let his ears perk up, interested in the answer. It was one he'd been wanting for a while admittedly; the answer as to why he'd been allowed in when they thought he was human.

Derek didn't like humans.

"Scott," the alpha grumbled. "My beta is his best friend, and I couldn't have one without the other. They were a package deal. And having the son of the sheriff on our side doesn't exactly hurt either."

Stiles felt his heart drop. _Oh._

The Collector let out a loud laugh, one of his feet lifting from the ground. "Maybe you're not a complete waste of space then huh?" he realised, mirth in his voice. "At least you see potential. But if I was you, I'd kick him to the curb. As soon as humanly possible."

 _God, Stilinski you're a fucking idiot._

"I'll keep that in mind," Derek promised loudly, more scuffling sounding as the man moved about. "You know where the front door is, right? Or do you need me to show you out?"

"Would you mind if I had a little chat with him?"

There was a few beats of silence, and if he strained hard enough, he could hear the beating heart a few feet from him. The hunter's heartbeat was perfectly collected, a simple and patterned rhythm. _The man isn't even afraid?_ Stiles shook out his fur and sunk lower to the ground, mind whirling as he continued to absorb the heavy atmosphere.

Derek's voice was tight when he finally spoke up. "I'm sorry?"

"Stiles," the blonde elaborated immediately. "I'm not stupid. I know that he's aware of the fox, and as we discussed he really shouldn't be holding the information from me. The sooner I know the little beauty's identity, the sooner I'll be out of your hair, remember?"

Stiles shrunk back from the backhanded compliment, hating the way they man seemed to adore how he looked. He was a fox – and not nearly as beautiful as his mother had been – not a bloody shimmering jewel.

"I remember, but I don't think he knows your little fox," Derek ground out. "If he did, I'm sure he would've told us seeing as we're his pack."

Stiles actually had to fight to keep the bitter chortle down.

"Yes, well, I feel that the boy is lying and – "

"And nothing," Derek cut in sharply, and if there had been any hidden warning before it was now practically hanging in the air. The room was suffocating in its anger. "I said he doesn't know the fox. You're not touching him, or talking to him, or _persuading_ him to answer any of your questions. Now, do you want me to show you the door or would you rather the express route down?" he growled.

 _Oh god, I bet he's pointing to the window right now._

The hunter's feet moved, shifting back and forth like he was juggling his weight. "Of course. It's clear that I've overstayed my welcome, so I'll take my leave," he allowed. "Just remember; any information you have, tell me. Otherwise I might find the room for a banshee in my collection."

 _How did he..?_ Stiles straightened up suddenly, eyes glowing gold as he stared down the ankles wiggling temptingly before him. It would be so easy to reach out and bite down hard. To gnaw until he tasted copper and tear until he hit bone.

It would be so easy.

The hunter let out a wearied sigh, his feet moving away from the oven and the fox's line of sight. "I came in through the door, and I'd like to leave that way," he murmured almost offhandedly. He was just speaking for the sake of speaking, for the sake of hearing his own voice. "See you later..."

Footsteps sounded, the man no doubt leaving the loft without further prompting, and once the steel door slammed behind him; silence reigned again. It was thick as well, like fog, and the fox huddled into a smaller ball as it screamed around him. He wasn't going to be an idiot and run out of hiding just because the man apparently left the building; and the added minutes were more than enough to go over what he'd learnt.

Derek hated him.

It was obvious; calling him a package deal, a way to get the law enforcement on their side. Was that what the past few days had been? The flirtatious texting, the curly fries, the stunning smiles. Had they all been the alpha's plan to earn his favour?

Stiles closed his eyes, and covered his face with his tail, whimpering inaudibly. If that had been the plan, then he hated to say it had worked. In the past few days he'd felt closer to the man than ever before – like they'd finally found the middle ground in their relationship. He thought that...

That what? That they were finally _something?_ Friends?

How fucking hilarious.

Pushing up ever so slightly, he wiggled towards the light and crawled out of his hiding space; shaking out his body idly. The room was still dead quiet, and he slowly moved around the counter, putting the pack back into his sights again.

Derek was on his feet, both hands clenched tightly at his sides as his chest heaved. "Hear that all?" he rumbled, the words barely audible. He slowly turned and fixed the fox with a look, something uncertain but still solid.

Stiles sat down, lifting his chin higher.

Hazel eyes disappeared as the man closed his eyes. "Don't tell him," he requested softly, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. "Stiles." His eyes slipped back open and he directed the pleading look into golden irises. "Don't tell him what I said today. Please."

The fox bowed his head, backing away slowly from the hopeful alpha. Was Derek really asking him that? Despite the man not knowing that he was asking _Stiles_ not to tell _Stiles_ , he was still asking who he thought was another party to keep information from their resident human. He was asking his new best friend Foxy to not tell the human Stiles that he wasn't welcome in the pack.

Stiles grinded his teeth together and turned, striding away from the man and towards the front door. Screw the risk of the hunter waiting outside, ready to shoot him down – he needed to leave. Now.

"Foxy, wait, hey," Derek moved to follow him, hands reaching out only to snap back when tiny teeth bared in his direction. "Hey now."

Golden irises warned him against chasing, before their owner was long gone, disappearing into the living room and then out the door. The alpha still stood there, one hand reaching out slightly for where the smaller body had been with crushed hope decorating his features.

Lydia was the first one to speak, her voice breathless. "Derek? Derek, what did you _do?"_

"I just lost the most important member of my pack," he whispered back, throat moving in another tight swallow.

There was a hand on his shoulder, the heated palm burning a hole through his sleep shirt. "Foxy was part of the pack?" Isaac asked hopefully, wide eyes somehow making the guilt gnawing through his heart fester strongly.

Derek brushed the boy aside, wandering away from the table and towards the kitchen counter. "I wasn't talking about the werefox," he grunted, lips pulling back from his teeth. The anger bubbling in his chest was directed at his own sheer stupidity and his hands itched to act, to tear and rip, at himself.

Reaching out, he grabbed the nearest thing he could – a large comical mug – and threw it across the room.

" _Damn it!"_

* * *

There was no arrow piercing his flesh, and no hailstorm of bullets. Nothing that could bring about another pain to end the one growing in his heart.

Betrayed. By his own pack.

 _Not like you don't deserve it, Stiles, you've been lying and cheating since day one. How long were you and Scott friends again? His turn to the dark side was the perfect chance for you tell him everything, but what did you do?_ _ **Oh, it's not the right time, he can't handle it.**_

 _Wrong._

 _You can't handle it._

Stiles growled at nothing, head shaking back and forth as he tried to dislodge the voice of doubt in his mind. The voice was slimy and he was sick of hearing it. Sick of hearing someone telling him that he wasn't good enough, because damn it, he didn't need the reminder.

He'd been given the chance to introduce his best friend to his world so many times, and all of them would've been the right time because he would've made it so.

Leaping through someone's backyard, he purposefully charged at a small bird bath, tipping it before jumping at the sparrows that tried to escape. His teeth clacked together with every missed attack, and he took to tearing into the perfected little garden around the bath; ripping up flowers and bulbs with harsh movements. The need for destruction was something primal, and he didn't bother to fight it, instead snarling and snapping as he dug furiously.

The sound of a glass door sliding open cut through his thoughts, and he looked up quickly, darting through a hole in the fence when the angered elder came storming out. He didn't bother to destroy any other backyards, instead just sprinting to where he knew he'd hidden his clothing.

Some people were walking along the pathway, happily chatting and holding a picnic basket between them and in a moment of spite – Stiles snapped at their ankles before darting into the undergrowth. It was petty, but frankly amusing and he followed the happy couple for half a mile, grazing their ankles with his teeth and listening to them squeal.

When they grew boring he hurried to his alcove and just stopped, dropping back to his haunches and staring at nothing in particular. He knew he had to change back, get home, and make sure he had finished all his homework before school tomorrow but he still sat there.

Just sat there. Watching and listening to the world around him.

The nature surrounding him was calming, chirping and alive and he closed his eyes, sinking low to the ground. He rested his chin on his paws and just _listened_ , ears flickering as he took in the chipmunk scurrying about a few feet from him, and the beetles digging for food near his paw. He hadn't done this in a while, preferring to use the short amount of time he changed for more exciting activities like hide and seek with the wildlife, or an adventure in the undergrowth, and he didn't realise how much he missed it.

It was his mum who'd taught him to _stop_. To just stop and take it in because one day he might not be able too. And that one day might have been coming sooner than he thought...

Stiles opened his eyes, the golden irises focusing on the red jacket hidden in the hollow tree.

He was little red riding hood and the hunter was his wolf. Stiles thought that the pack, that Derek, had been his axe man, that they would be there for him and hack off his head, but he was beginning to realise there was no axe welding woodsman.

Stiles was alone in this.

* * *

 **Yeah, I know, the reveal didn't happen. Please don't get too mad, it's happening soon, and I love how it does so I hope you will too. Remember that there's more to this story than meets the eye so give the next few chapters a chance before you come at me with a pitchfork.**

 **And I apologize for the later than usual update – it's a public holiday here so I went to a water park with all my friends. Had the best day.**

 **Taila xx**


	16. Now Kiss And Make Up

They seemed happy; laughing and snorting out their food as they recounted the weekend with perfect clarity and blinding smiles. Usually just seeing them in such high spirits was more than enough to provoke his own lips to tug up, to make his heart swell with pride because _he_ was good enough to be these people's friends.

Today, it just made him terribly sad.

Stiles leant back against the hard chair, fork pushing through his untouched pasta with slow drags as everyone talked around him. He didn't have much to say, but no one seemed to notice his unnatural lack of input – as high on happiness as they were.

"And he was _perched_ up there," Isaac snorted loudly, one of his hands lifting to cover his lips. "I wish you could've seen it man, he was like a scarf, just watching and occasionally nibbling on Derek's facial hair."

The group of teenagers erupted into laughter, their eyes twinkling with the memory. Stiles fought to keep his own memories locked away somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, refusing to so much as _remember_ the warmth of his alpha against his body or the smile the older male would send him.

 _Stiles trust's you, and he's a hard one to win over. I trust you. For now._

Stiles closed his eyes, tightly, before snapping them open and adopting a smile. "It sounds like you guys really had some fun this weekend," he commented, forcing the smile to stay when some eyes moved over to him. "I'm sorry I missed it."

Beside him, his best friend made a noise of dismissal, one hand floating through the air. "Not your fault dude," Scott excused, shrugging the matter aside. "Your dad needed to talk it out, we all get that. How did that go anyway?" he asked next, both brows up and curious.

Swallowing back the sarcastic and probably insulting comment he was wanting, oh so badly to make, he just ground his teeth together impatiently. "Worse than I thought," he murmured, fingers tapping against the table nervously.

"What? Why, what happened with – "

"Later," Stiles cut in sharply, trying to ease the sting by smiling widely, teeth on display. "Ask me later. Listen, you said you had something to tell me?"

Scott's face lit up in recognition. "Oh yeah," he remembered, the frustrated expression slipping into excitement. "Well, we were thinking that since you couldn't make it this weekend; we could have another movie night tonight?" he offered, straightening up and smiling at the others at the table. "We were torn between movies anyway, so now we can watch both."

Stiles nodded shortly, throat moving in a thick swallow. "Uh, when?"

On his other side, a broad shoulder nudged against his own. "Today? Oh about five. You free?" Isaac grinned, his usual puppy dog expression dancing across his features. "We were thinking _Pacific Rim?"_

Pushing to his feet, Stiles made sure to keep his features clear. "Uh, I don't think I can today," he answered truthfully, hiking up his backpack. His food was still untouched. "Maybe another day? I've uh, got some things I need to do after school and," he looked at the time on his phone, noting there was still twenty minutes left for lunch. "And, I need to go speak with one of my teachers so, later guys."

"Wait," Scott hurried to his feet, eyes flickering down to the unfinished food and clouded amber irises. "Tomorrow then?"

Stiles forced his lips up into a smile. "Yeah, maybe," he allowed, turning his back to them and walking through the cafeteria. "See yah guys," he called over his shoulder, pushing through the wide doors and into the hallway.

Continuing to walk normally and hum under his breath, he waited until he was around the next corner before he exhaled breathily, slumping against the wall. His eyes slipped closed, the whiskey orbs hiding under thick lashes as he struggled to breathe for a few minutes.

He loved them all, really he did, and if he survived the next few days then he'd never turn them away again. But he'd made his bed and now he had to sleep in it. He should've told them as soon as they'd settled down, but he didn't and that was _his_ fault, no one else's but his own. And now, the hunter was his punishment.

And he wasn't about to inflict said punishment on anyone.

If he lived; he spilt the beans. If he didn't... well then they were split anyway.

Checking the hallway around him with careful eyes, he pushed from the wall and stalked towards the nearest exit, already pulling his car keys from his pockets. He had study to do – and not for school. He still had all the information on the damn hunter, and had yet to actually _read_ it. If his dad bitched about him missing school, he's point out that there was no use getting an education if he didn't have the life to actually put it to good use.

Folding his lanky body into the aged vehicle, he rammed in the keys and revved the engine hard enough to hear his poor baby wheeze. And as much as he hated himself for it; he ignored her and went on his way, tyres screaming as he tore from the lot.

The silence was deafeningly loud and he wrinkled his nose, slamming his finger against the radio and fiddling with the dial. "Oh, Adele, really?" he demanded, slumping over slightly and glaring at the offending radio channel.

" _Hello from the other side! I must have called a thousand times!"_

Stiles grumbled lightly. "Probably actually like three times," he murmured, a smile growing unbidden on his features once the words left his lips. "God, that joke is old."

Frowning now – wow that smile lasted ages – he pulled into the driveway; noting that his father wasn't home. It didn't matter to him if the man was in or not, as he'd said he knew the older male would understand why he was taking the time away, so he parked the vehicle lazily before getting out.

"At least now there's more silence," Stiles muttered, clicking his tongue lightly as he went to unlock the door. "Because I _wanted_ that."

Locking the door behind him, he only stopped to grab a soda and pack of chips before hurrying up the stairs to his room. He'd need the sugar if he was wanting to pull an all nighter – which he was – and to force himself to stare at the endless mound of books and papers. Plus cheez-it's made everything better.

Like, _everything._

Dropping his suddenly exhausted body into his chair, he booted up his laptop, eyeing the large messy pile of papers that balanced on the desk next to it. The oncoming hours weren't going to be fun in the least, but if he wanted to survive the next week, it was all he could do. Besides, he was pretty genius when it came to planning and...

And maybe this would be easier if he told the pack.

Resting his face in his hands he released a slow breath, shoulders trembling as he held back the onslaught of tears threatening his composure. What the hell was he thinking? That he could manage this on his own? Was he insane? That there was –

That there was someone tapping on his window?

Frowning, he picked his head back and up and turned to face the glass plane, eyes widening when he noticed who stood somewhat sheepishly on the other side. The man was clad in his usual leather jacket and dark jeans, but the material was pulled tightly over his thighs as he balanced somewhat precariously on the edge of the window sill.

"Could you let me in?" Derek asked, voice surprisingly void of its usual harshness. "Please Stiles?" he added when the boy made no move towards him. "I think we need to talk."

Slowly pushing to his feet, Stiles nodded and rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, uh sure, no problem," he allowed, adopting a tired smile. The words from yesterday were still ringing through his mind. "How, uh, how did you know I was here? It's a school day."

Derek waited until the window was open, swinging into the cool room with a relieved sigh. "When you didn't come to fifth period I got a panicked text," he revealed, studying the room for all of three seconds before looking back to the boy with a scolding gaze. "You shouldn't have done that Stiles, not when we have a hunter on our hands. You really scared everyone."

"Shit, I didn't even think of that," Stiles sighed, tipping his head back. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

Derek shrugged helplessly. "It's okay, we're all a little stressed so..." he smiled lightly, the action looking like it physically hurt him to complete. "But you should text Isaac. I think he's having a panic attack."

Stiles instantly nodded and moved back to the desk to grab his phone, shooting off a quick lie about a headache and an apology for not telling anyone he was leaving. As he typed, his guest shifted awkwardly on his feet, clearly battling with something inside his own mind.

"And Stiles?"

Looking up in confusion, the teenager tried to smile. "Yeah?"

Derek frowned and looked down, licking his lips. "That's not the only reason I'm here," he confessed, turning slightly and going to study the tall bookcase across the room. "Listen – yesterday when the hunter came, he made a couple of threats against you. Was saying he wanted to _talk_ to you and that he knew about your involvement with the fox."

"Probably why my disappearing act wasn't appreciated," Stiles nodded, not bothering to act like the information was new to him. "Once again, sorry for the dick move, but continue?"

Derek was cradling a comic book, thumbing through the pages like it held all the answers. "Damn it," he hissed, throwing the book back on the shelf almost violently.

"Whoa," Stiles hurried to put his phone down. "What's up?"

Derek still didn't face him. "I said some things, and..." he shook his head, chest moving in heaving breaths. "I couldn't sleep last night. Stiles," he turned to face the boy, features conflicted, "I told him that the only reason you were in the pack was because I couldn't have Scott without having you, and I told him that we'd kept you around because of your relation to the sheriff..."

Stiles chewed over that, refusing to acknowledge the hurt flaring to life in his chest. "Oh."

"I lied Stiles," Derek murmured, shaking his head. "And I _know_ it was a lie, but I had to tell you. I feel terrible and I don't even know why, damn it."

"You're the sourwolf, you don't deal with emotions," Stiles replied breathlessly, almost grinning. "Thanks for telling me, I mean..."

Derek smiled back, the action awkward. "He already told you didn't he? Foxy?" he guessed, rolling his eyes and settling back onto his usual brooding facade. "I knew he would, but I was hoping that he wouldn't. I didn't want you to know – even if it wasn't true – because I knew you'd start questioning everything."

Stiles looked away hurriedly. He totally hadn't done that and he said as much; "I totally did not. I questioned nothing."

"Liar."

Stiles sent his alpha a sharp look, poking out his tongue. "Don't be a smartass," he scolded. "God, you're such a terrible flirt, you know that?"

" _Flirt?"_ Derek choked on air, folded arms slipping back to his sides. "I am not flirting with you, and if I was, you'd know about it," he grumbled, straightening his shirt and fixing him with a cool glare. "Flirting my ass."

Stiles grinned, relishing in his victory. "True," he allowed, gently holding his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels. "I mean, last time you did I knew, right? What with your lines about silk sheets and soft jazz, it wouldn't have taken a genius to figure it out." He cocked his head to the side and grinned wider when pink dusted over defined cheek bones. "If you're still interested in that by the way, my bed is right behind you; the sheets aren't silk, but cotton will have to do."

Derek actually turned to look at the bed for a few seconds, as though he was committing the sight to memory. "I specifically said silk," he murmured, turning to lift both brows. "But you're right; cotton will _have_ to do."

"Cotton will have to what?"

Stiles almost fell over when the dark haired male started to advance, wolfish smile in place. He hit the desk as soon as he tried to match the man for steps, and instantly both his hands came up in surrender. He may have made jokes to the man, but he wasn't expecting him to _retaliate._

Stiles chuckled nervously, the wolf now only a few feet from him. "What are you doing, dude?" he questioned breathily, swallowing the anxious lump in his throat.

Derek was suddenly _there_ , hazel eyes filling his vision like twin moons. "What do you think I'm doing?" he asked lightly, tilting his head to the side in a very canine fashion. And, Stiles had never noticed before, but whoa his lashes were thick and long. "Fulfilling my part? Keeping a promise?"

"You didn't promise me anything," Stiles pointed out shakily.

The wolf only shrugged. "Not out loud no," he replied, grinning and revealing sharp teeth. "But I think we both knew the implication was there."

Stiles narrowed his eyes, just managing to catch himself before he did something really stupid – like lean in and take what the man was offering. "You're totally fucking with me," he snarled, tilting his head back in annoyance. "Not funny dude, I'm a teenager, my hormones can't handle your teasing."

Derek's head was still slightly tilted to the side. "Who said I was teasing?" he questioned, backing away and letting the boy breath again. "And I'm well acquainted with your hormones Stiles, they stinking out the room."

"Stinking out the – Watch yourself sourwolf," Stiles warned. "I showered this morning."

"Wrong stink," Derek announced dryly, eyes drifting over to the load of paper on the desk. His eyebrows lifted comically but he didn't comment, attention already grabbed by the jack-rabbit heartbeat in the chest before him. "You're not going to faint are you?" he sighed, eyebrows climbing even higher.

Stiles swallowed, mouth moving silently. "I don't even know what just happened," he muttered.

"I apologised for being a jerk," Derek dismissed. "It wasn't that hard to follow the conversation, Stiles."

The whiskey eyed teen mirrored his expression, dark brows lifting. "Wasn't hard to follow the conversation," he repeated bluntly. "Yeah, that's not what I was thinking. Did you just come onto me or am I slowly going insane? Because I know which option is more preferable."

Derek didn't answer, instead looking over to the window like he was contemplating jumping back through it.

Stiles followed his gaze, narrowing his eyes when he noticed the skittish light in hazel orbs. "Nuh uh, no, you're not going anywhere," he decided, stalking forward to cover the window with his body.

Derek nodded, seemingly understanding that he was stuck – literally and figuratively. "Which option?" he asked quietly, throat moving in a swallow. Whiskey eyes watched his adam's apple bob before snapping back up to his face, a curious light in them. The wolf got the hint. "Which option do you think is more preferable?"

Stiles blinked, because _was the man nervous?_ Derek's usually hard hazel eyes seemed to have melted into a molten mix of forest green and mocha brown. Okay so maybe that wasn't as poetic as it could've been, but you got the point. The usually unfeeling and uninterested alpha was suddenly far too interested in what the human boy had to say – and judging by the subtle hint of defensiveness in said coffee and emerald coloured irises, he was emotionally invested as well.

Whatever happened next was either going to make or break him.

Stiles took a deep breath in, releasing it with fluttering of his eyes. It was now or never. "I always thought insanity would look good on me," he started slowly, studying the man's expression. "But then again, having you on my arm _would_ look better."

 _On my arm? What the hell Stiles? Since when did we enter the eighteenth century? Is that seriously the best you've got?_

Derek, though, seemed almost smug with the poor attempt at a romantic pick-up line. "I knew I wore my leather jacket and tight jeans for a reason today," he announced to no one in particular before shifting forward.

Stiles opened his mouth to answer – and it was a beautiful, sarcastic reply, he promised – but there was a mouth on his and a hand tightening in the shirt on his chest and suddenly sarcasm didn't seem to matter as much anymore. There were more important things in life after all; like the teeth capturing his lower lip and the warm hand sneaking under his shirt to settle against his lower back.

Groaning unabashedly into the demanding mouth of his alpha – whoa even in his head that sounded filthy – Stiles lifted one of his hands to tangle his fingers in dark locks, tugging lightly on the soft strands. A particularly hard tug earned him a growl and he grinned against the lips holding him captive, almost wanting to chuckle before he realised he didn't really have enough air to laugh, let alone talk.

Or breathe.

Damn, he'd forgotten that breathing was a thing.

Pulling back and breaking the lock, he sucked in a lungful of air greedily, letting his eyes snap open again. Derek was staring at him, pupils blown wide and lips thoroughly wet and parted, allowing harsh breaths to come and go.

Stiles admired the sight until he winced, realising just how hard he'd been tugging; his fingers tangled in the black mess of hair. "Crap," he apologized roughly, massaging the scalp he'd abused. "My bad. I didn't notice... and now I've messed up your perfectly styled hair."

Derek grunted. "It's fine Stiles," the man rumbled back, almost annoyed that _this_ was interrupting them. "Leave it; you're only going to mess it up again."

Shaking his head, he leant back, lips pursed as he tried to fix the sorry state. "Nope," he decided. As he put distance between them, as little as it was, he noticed how raw the man looked. "Whoa, heh, ravished is a good look on you," he complimented, lightly punching the man's shoulder. "You should wear it more often."

"Stiles."

The boy in question lifted a brow. "Yeah sourwolf?"

"Shut up."

And there was that mouth again. For here on out he was going to call his beloved alpha; _The Silencer_ because no one had ever been able to him up quite so effectively. Or at all.

With one hand back in black locks, and the other resting somewhere between the man's shoulder blades, Stiles nipped at the lips pressed against his, letting out a content sigh. Kissing was nice; why hadn't he spent more time on such a hobby? When the mouth devouring his own pressed against him harder, forcing him bodily against the wall, he realised it was because he doubted that the man he was kissing would have been ready before tonight.

And waiting for Derek had been all kinds of worth it.

It was the wolf who pulled back this time, a lazy smirk on his swollen lips. "You actually shut up," Derek noted happily, not bothering to let up the weight he was forcing onto the teen.

Stiles hummed back. "Well, it's hard to talk when you have the fabled sourwolf otherwise occupying your mouth, you know?" he mumbled, eyes still closed. He slowly dropped his head back against the wall, noting that the chest against his caught. "You okay there?"

"Fine," came the tight reply.

He slipped one eye open. "You look constipated," Stiles revealed, arching a brow before blinking at the man nervously. Was this the part where he regretted everything and dived back through the window? "You... Uh you sure you're okay?"

Derek's eyes flickered up to his, understanding painting the coloured irises. "Yes, Stiles," he promised, hazel snapping lower again.

With curiosity tainting his mind – and probably his better judgement as well – Stiles decided to test the theory blooming behind his eyes. Pretending to take the man's answer, he sighed and nodded, tilting his head again so he was looking across the room and his neck was displayed. Again, the chest heaving against his own stilled and he grinned.

"Neck fetish!" he hollered.

The werewolf groaned aloud. "Damn it," Derek hissed, eyes flashing red. Somehow, despite the mussed hair and wet lips, he still managed to look terrifying. "Make one comment Stiles, I dare you."

"Challenge accepted."

"Do it and I'm walking away," Derek threatened, and the words alone caused something tight and uncomfortable to form in the teen's stomach. If the frightened desperation showed on his features, the wolf didn't comment on it, he only added. "And no more for you _today_."

And if there was a silent emphasis on the word 'today,' neither of them openly admitted it.

"Fine," Stiles grumbled, feigning annoyance. "I won't make a comment. While you're in earshot. I won't make a comment while you're in earshot," he grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

Derek rolled his eyes, carefully taking his weight away from the smaller body. "I believe you," he muttered, pulling back completely and separating them. He lifted a hand to rake it through his hair, resettling the strands as best he could. His lips tugged up into a small smile, and any discomfort in the teenager's stomach disappeared. "You coming today? Movie night, part two."

Everything in him wanted to say that yes he was, but he shook his head. "Studying," he answered thickly.

Disappointment flickered across handsome features for all of three seconds, before the emotion was smothered. "Okay," Derek allowed, eyes moving across the room. "Is that the information from Deaton? He said he gave all he had to you."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, that's it," he admitted before he straightened. "Did you want it?"

Derek shrugged. "If you don't mind – it'll keep me entertained tonight."

Hurrying across the room, he picked up the pile with weak arms. "Please tell me you brought your car?" he chuckled, turning to cock a brow at the dark wolf. When the man nodded, he grinned. "Brilliant. Help me through the house?"

And so they travelled through the quiet and empty house, the older male opening doors and warning the stumbling teenager of any obstacles in his path. It was strangely companionable, and it just made the smile on Stiles' face grow that much brighter. Derek wasn't running for the hills, he wasn't backing away with an expression similar to horror. No, because he was staying with humour in his eyes and expertly hidden smile of his own.

Stiles finally dumped the pile in the man's backseat, cursing when half of it went one way while the other went in the opposite direction. "Shit," he winced. "Sorry about that."

"I'll fix it later," Derek replied absently, shutting the car door carefully. His free hand was juggling the car keys somewhat awkwardly, like he didn't know what to do with it otherwise. "I guess that I'll see you later?" he tried, turning to frown at the teenager watching him.

Stiles nodded. "I guess you will," he promised, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was tempted to grab the man and tug him in for another mind blowing kiss but he could _feel_ eyes boring into the back of his head. "My neighbour is watching us right now isn't she?"

Derek just nodded.

"Nosy bitch," Stiles breathed out a groan, tutting in annoyance.

That brought the smile back to still kiss swollen lips. "I'll see you tomorrow Stiles," the wolf chuckled, moving towards the driver's side of his beloved car.

"You will?"

The man grinned, and this time there was a definite predatorial edge to it. "Keep your window open, and yes, I will," he arched a brow, like he expected the boy to argue. "Goodbye Stiles."

"Bye," Stiles offered lazily, licking his lips when the man slipped into his car. He waited until the man had pulled away, his breath caught in his throat somewhat uncomfortably. "Holy shit," he gushed, when the car was out of sight. "Derek likes necks. He likes _my_ neck."

And that brought about a new realisation.

"Derek likes me," Stiles whispered. "Like, _like likes_ me."

He grinned, practically turning to skip back into his house with the same dumb expression painting his features. His lips were still tingling from the collision of the other man's and it only made him _that_ much happier. All thoughts of the hunter, and the lie seemed to slip from important to something he could deal with later because –

Derek. Kissed. Him.

Stiles let out a sound strangely and frighteningly similar to a squeal once he was back in his room, body suddenly full of so much energy. He wanted to run and yell and – his eyes drifted over to the desk, lips tugging up into a pout. This would have been the perfect mindset to study in, but he'd just had to go and give all the information away...

"Nap time!" he decided, yelling the suggestion aloud before dumping his body on the bed. A nap was the solution to everything, and when he woke up he'd deal with the world. But right now? Right now he was going to have pleasant dreams of his new make-out partner.

If only he knew how wrong he was.

* * *

 _Letting out a groan, Stiles wondered when his head had become so heavy because last time he checked it had been perfectly balanced on his shoulders. "The 'ell," he slurred tiredly, head lolling backwards._

 _His head wasn't just heavy, no; it was also pounding out a mismatched beat into the silence. The pain grew at the base of his neck and travelled up to his temples, every beat of his heart eliciting a rather vengeful thump of agony across his crown. Like his own body was punishing itself for breathing._

 _How goddamn morbid._

 _Swallowing – why did his mouth feel like it was full of cotton balls? – Stiles tried to open his eyes, praying to every deity he knew that there wasn't a light waiting to blind him. When he finally had the courage to open both foggy whiskey eyes, he noticed that there was no chance of light worsening his headache, because there was nothing in sight._

 _Literally. The room was so dark he couldn't see_ _ **shit.**_

" _Uh hello?" he called, mind aching all the more when he tried to remember how he'd ended up in the dark with a migraine. "Anybody out there?"_

 _When the door creaked open, letting in a flood of light and framing the thick shouldered silhouette, Stiles fought to keep his eyes open. Gritting his teeth against the pain of the sudden intrusion, he forced a smile on his lips. "Uh, hi?" he tried, going to stand up._

 _Only he couldn't... Frowning, he tugged on his hands harder, feeling the rope cut into tender wrists._ _ **The hell? Why am I tied up? And why the hell isn't that guy talking?**_ _Stiles groaned when the raw skin of his wrist chafed all the more, the sudden and sharp pain rivalling that of his head._

" _Hello Stiles, it's good to see you're awake."_

 _And with the voice he remembered. He remembered walking through the woods in confusion, calling out for his pack only to get back empty and silent winds. He remembered thinking his alpha was coming to save him only to find it was his hunter. He remembered running. He remembered fear. He remembered the sting of a tranquilising dart._

 _Stiles swallowed. "Yeah," he murmured, blinking hard when the room flared in light. "I'm guessing you didn't know how much to horse tranq to use, huh?"_

 _The hunter, all blonde hair and smiles, shrugged. "I made a rough estimate," he admitted, going to stand at attention; both hands behind his back and feet a shoulders width apart. "You were out for longer than I thought, and for a second I was worried I might have overdone it."_

 _Stiles forced a smile. "Why?" he demanded. "I don't need to be alive for you to skin me."_

 _The hunter sent him a disappointed look. "Yes, you do," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "I want the fox's fur, not your mole dotted skin boy, and last time I checked, you need to be alive to change."_

 _And now the ball was in his field, because the hunter needed him alive. The smile decorating his lips took on a genuine and winning edge. "Oh, so you need me alive huh?"_

" _Don't get cocky," the hunter commanded. "You_ _ **will**_ _change into your other form. I guarantee it."_

 _Stiles narrowed his eyes, tugging harder on the ropes and not bothering to acknowledge the pain. "I feel like anything you do would be a good incentive_ _ **not**_ _to change, actually," he drawled, rubbing his wrists raw in their bindings._

 _The hunter grinned lazily, head tilting to the side ever so slightly. "Pain is a good incentive," he pointed out bluntly before cackling. And yes it was a cackle, because no laugh was that dark, that twisted. "I'm interested to see how long it takes before you just give up," the man confessed. "Until you change just so I'll kill you and end it all."_

 _Oh._

 _Oh dear._

 _Stiles refused to acknowledge the fear steadily building in his chest. He was going to be fine. "We'll be here a while," he bit out. "I hope you don't have anywhere to be."_

 _The hunter leant in close, hands grasping his shoulders. "Oh I have no where to be," he breathed. "And neither do you."_

 _With that, the man turned sharply and wandered across the room to the corner behind his captive. Stiles craned his neck to try and follow the monster, but his muscles protested that they weren't quite capable of the exorcist styled move. Nervously, he faced the front of the room again, practising his poker face as he heard the man rattled around._

" _Let's play a game Stiles," the man spoke up, the sound of metal against metal echoing afterwards. "Let's see how much you can take before you scream."_

 _Stiles bit back a whimper. "I don't wanna play," he announced stubbornly._

 _Warm breath fanned across his cheek. "I don't care."_

 _And then there was the cool edge of a blade against his ribcage, the laughter of his captive, and the pain of being cut open and left to bleed._

* * *

Stiles shot awake, gasping for air as he stared uselessly at his ceiling. His chest heaved with every breath, and his fingers tangled in the bed covers, twisting and ripping at the thin sheets he hid under.

It was another nightmare. And just another way for his hunter to get under his skin.

"Shit," he whispered, closing his eyes with a whimper. He could still feel the cold steel against his side, and the warmth of the hunter's words against his neck and cheek. Absently, he lifted a hand up to scrub at his face, trying to wash away the feeling completely.

 _Back to reality now, Stiles._

Pushing up, he blinked hard, taking in his room with a bored eye. The world outside his window had darkened into twilight and he heard his father bustling about downstairs – revealing he'd been out for a few hours at least. Just what he needed; to conk out when he was meant to be studying and –

Oh.

Right.

He'd given Derek all the information.

Well, there went his Monday night. And he'd been looking forward to it almost – to reading up on his heritage and hopefully learning a few things he hadn't before, to reading new things about his mother and how she'd lived and –

His mother. The information about his mother.

He'd given it to Derek.

Stiles rushed to his feet in a sudden surge of movement, stumbling across the room with frantic feet. "Please be here, please be here," he chanted, digging through the loose papers on his desk. There was the work he'd gotten from the man's uncle, but that was it.

There was no sheet of paper about his mother and her abilities. And more importantly, there was no little blue post-it note with messy writing that said; _Fuck yeah, I'm in the ten percent._

Derek had it all.

"Fuck."

* * *

 **Yes, I'm giving you two updates this week because I'm awesome! Also cause I feel really bad about how long I've made you wait about everything.**

 **So guess what happens next chapter? Not even going to bother pretending that it doesn't cause even I'm not cruel enough to drag it out any longer. It's next chapter guys – which you will be getting on the usual day. Yes, I'm not even making you wait an extra week!**

 **Taila xx**


	17. Little Blue Note

They were pouting.

And even Derek, with his proclaimed emotional constipation was able to see it clear as day; the lowered heads, puckered lips, occasional drawn out sigh that echoed and always – _always_ – started a train reaction. It was pouting, without a doubt.

And any other day he would've found it adorable and incredibly amusing. But seeing that he'd been staring at the same ancient tome, and breathing in its musty stink for the past three hours all he heard and saw were things that doubled the pain growing in his temples.

Groaning, he threw the tome down, effectively losing his place in the book. "I thought werewolves couldn't get headaches," he murmured, closing his eyes and leaning back. He pointedly ignored how, once he decided to face the world again, he would have to painstakingly find his page and instead let his head loll on his shoulder, features facing the man moving towards him.

Peter sat down in the empty chair beside him, reaching out to absently fish through the loose pages. "You're just stressed," he excused, eyes distracted. "Go find your boy toy and get him to work away the tension..."

Derek's eyes snapped open, flaring red for a split second. "Don't," he warned quietly, sparing his pups a quick glance. None of them had noticed the words, and he turned to glare at his uncle with a trained glare. "Why don't you say it louder next time?"

"If you insist," Peter grinned slyly, winking at his nephew. "It _was_ about time though..."

Grinding his teeth, Derek averted his eyes back to the book, hands hovering over the front cover. Without a word, he tossed it to his uncle and let the man have at it, reaching through the pile again to fish for something with smaller words and information easier to comprehend.

He was pointedly trying to avoid the topic of his new...

Uh...

Blinking down at the plain sheet of paper in his hands, Derek tried to filter through a mental list of titles. None of them seemed to fit what he and the human boy were now. _Boyfriend_ sounded too cheap, _partner_ made it sound like they'd been together longer than several hours, and _mate_ made his wolf growl in something he didn't want investigate.

So, he was pointedly trying to avoid the topic of his new _companionship_ with the teenage boy – but his mischievous uncle was finding every single opportunity to bring it up.

Every. Single. Opportunity.

Once he'd gotten home, arms laden with information, the older beta had taken one look at him and broken down laughing. It had taken him a while to stop, eyes leaking tears and hands clutching his stomach, but when Peter had finally calmed, all he'd said was; _"This is going to be good."_

And if that wasn't foreboding, then Derek would eat his leather jacket – not really because his new _companion_ was fond of how he looked in it, but it was the thought that counted.

The words had settled in his gut, forming a nervous knot and after the older man had fallen into silence, he could still hear them bouncing around his head. He almost wanted to ask what Peter had meant, but something was warning him against it. The devious shine to blue eyes had made him unsettled, so he'd made a coffee and sat down with the information; deigning to ignore anything else the man threw his way.

Which were a lot of innuendo's as time had revealed.

"What chapter did you get up too?" Peter mumbled beside him, thumbing through the tome from before. His eyes were holding a barely interested gleam, but he was still settling in for the long haul, hands reaching out to swipe his nephew's coffee. "So, I know where to start."

Derek shrugged, not wanting to admit that after the first chapter, he hadn't actually been reading anything – more skimming his eyes over words and pretending to be absorbing them.

Peter arched a brow. "I'll start at the beginning then," he chuckled, rolling his eyes and going back to the beginning. "I might see something you don't, hmm?"

Nodding, Derek looked back to the sheet of paper in his hands, eyes still focused on the first word while his mind was back in a certain boy's bedroom. Back with said boy who had somehow managed to capture his attention – _and_ _affection_ , a small voice added – with nothing more than flailing movements and wild lips.

He couldn't pinpoint when his annoyance had turned to respect and then to something more, only that it had and one day, when he was gearing himself to tell the kid to shut up, he found he'd rather listen. Stiles always had something to say, and after months of listening to the babble, he realised that he really should've been paying attention since day one.

Somehow, every floundering response and sentence meant something at some time in their lives. Even if it was just remembering something the teen had said and letting the words change how he acted towards something, or how he felt regarding certain things. Even if it was just recalling how passionate the boy could get, and letting that calm his nerves when faced with something he'd rather avoid. It all meant something to him.

Derek sighed, swallowing hard at that as he squinted down at the paper. He could still remember when the boy had ranted – for little over an hour – about how life was short and if you wanted something, you took it. And while Stiles had been trying to explain why he'd taken the last slice of pizza, and hopefully stop himself from getting mauled by a pack of wolves, the words had stuck with the alpha for weeks. And eventually led him to what had happened several hours ago.

Stiles had once told him to take what he wanted, so Derek had taken the words in stride and taken _him_. Of course, he wasn't sure if that was what the teenager meant, but that was how he translated it.

And it wasn't like the teenager was complaining.

Derek felt his cheeks heat slightly, and he looked up, checking to make sure he wasn't the focus of anyone's attention. He didn't know what had compelled him to kiss the boy hours ago, but he was privately glad he did. He'd gone over there to apologize for being an asshole, and hopefully explain himself better, and while he'd done that he'd also held the boy against a wall and ravished his mouth, getting quite the enthusiastic response...

"Blushing are we, nephew?"

Looking up at the coy voice, Derek bared his teeth and resettled his body in the dining chair. "It's warm in here," he argued weakly, clenching his teeth. "And my head hurts."

Peter pursed his lips. "I didn't know headaches caused red cheeks; are you sure it's not a fever?" he offered, resting his chin in one hand as he studied the dark haired man with a coy smile. "Maybe you're catching Mono? You know, the _kissing_ disease..."

Someone across the room snorted, and to Derek's horror, he realised his pack were beginning to take interest in the conversation.

"Derek hasn't kissed anyone but the crook of his elbow for months," Isaac teased, wrinkling his nose at his alpha, full expecting a sharp retort back. His bright eyes lost their note of humour though, when he noticed the man's cheeks darkening under the attention. "Oh my god. Derek, dude, who have you been kissing?"

The alpha looked between everyone, fingers tightening on the sheet of paper in their grasp. "The crook of my elbow?" he managed through clenched teeth, shooting his uncle a tight glare.

"Derek!" Isaac almost fell from his spot on the couch. "What have you been up too?"

Scott grinned from next to him, helping the fallen back onto the plush cushions. "Don't you mean _who_ has he been up too?" he mocked with a wiggle of his body, like the potential gossip was giving him limitless energy.

Derek only frowned. "That doesn't make any sense?" he muttered, going back to the paper in his hands. He began to actually read it, noting that a blue note was sticking to the bottom of the paper. Stiles must have read it already and added his own input then...

"You don't make any sense," Isaac pointed out, straightening his shirt from where it had creased on his trip down. His eyes were curious and unrelenting, showing everyone who looked to them that he wasn't about to drop the new subject. "So, Derek, my man, what have you been doing lately?"

"Don't you mean _who_ has he been doing lately?"

Derek glanced over to the grinning beta, almost wanting to slap the boy around the back of the head. "Well, at least that made more sense," he told the boy. "Congratulations."

Scott grinned even wider.

"What I've been doing," Derek started, waving a piece of paper around, "Is researching. What about you? How was school and have you done your homework?"

Isaac carefully lifted a brow. "Changing the subject huh?" he noted. "School was dull, except for Stiles acting a little strange and then disappearing – but I told you about that already – and no, my homework hasn't been touched yet, but..." his lips tugged up into a barely there smile. "But I'll do it if you tell me who you kissed. And I won't argue."

Derek perked up at that. The offer would be useful – his pup would never do the work unless he threw him on the table and practically sat on him before passing him a pen and paper – but he was wanting more than a one day ticket for the information.

"You'll do it, no arguments, for the rest of the term," he challenged.

Isaac narrowed his eyes. "Deal. Who was the lucky girl?"

"Wasn't a girl," Derek breathed out simply, studying their faces to watch their expressions. There was no judgement or disgust, but there was a whole lot of interest and – and excitement? Swallowing again, he looked down, beginning to actually _read_ the information in his hands. "They're younger than me... Male, clearly."

The pack rolled their eyes collectively. "Name," Isaac commanded.

But Derek's annoyed smile was falling from his lips the longer he read. _Claudia Stilinski._ The name was heading the paper, and the rest of it spoke of her fox form and abilities before beginning to ramble about the unborn child in her womb. The child that had a ten percent chance of growing to be like her...

His eyes drifted to the blue post-it note that covered the corner of the page, taking in the; _Fuck yeah, I'm in the ten percent_ written in a familiar scrawl.

"Stiles," he whispered, and across the room the pack exploded into sound.

Derek ignored all the loud exclamations though, mouth moving soundlessly as he took in the information scrawled neatly across perfectly white paper. Claudia, his _human_ pack member's mother, was a werefox and there had been a ten percent chance that her son would be the same. And according to the messy writing on pale blue paper, said son was one of the lucky ten percent.

Stiles wasn't human.

Stiles was...

Derek lifted his eyes, wide and horrified, and the pack calmed down, apparently realising their alpha wasn't frightened by their teasing. "Oh my god," he muttered, shaking his head before sparing the information another look. "Oh my _god._ "

"Derek?" Isaac was slowly pushing to his feet.

"It's Stiles," Derek announced, voice devastatingly loud in the silence. "Stiles is the werefox."

* * *

He wasn't even going to pretend that he wasn't five seconds away from panicking. That his heart wasn't trying to pound its way out of his ribcage and onto the floor of his car. That fear wasn't wrapping around him like a snake and squeezing the air from his lungs and the hope from his mind.

Derek had the information, and by now, he was bound to have read through most of it.

And that meant that by now he knew. He knew that Stiles had been lying to him, and he had probably connected all the dots in his head; realising why they'd never seen both the fox and boy at the same time, why the fox always seemed to be nearby him and why the creature already seemed to know so much and fit in so well.

Because the creature had always been there...

Stiles swallowed, breath coming out in panting heaves. "It'll be okay," he promised his over active mind, nodding to the silence. "He won't hate us, you know he won't."

Despite the desperation to get to the loft, and hopefully steal the information back before it could be read, he wanted _so bad_ to go home and hide in his small hole in the wall. Literally. He wanted to shift and hide somewhere the big bad wolves wouldn't be able to fit and therefore wouldn't be able to grab him from.

The desire to hide and whimper had never been so strong, had never occupied so much of his mind like this before. But the even stranger thing... the thing that really made _no sense whatsoever_ , was that he wanted to run to his alpha and hide.

To his mate.

Driving in silence suddenly wasn't happening anymore, and Stiles started laughing. His head was thrown back, hands clenching the steering wheel even more as the loud booming laughter left his throat. He briefly entertained the idea of pulling over, but decided not to bother – if he crashed and burned then at least his body would be smiling.

"Fuck, what the hell am I thinking?" he demanded haughtily, shaking his head as chuckles still bloomed in his chest. Somewhere in his mind, the fox whimpered and whined, scratching against his control. "No, no this is _your_ fault," Stiles decided. "You don't have him and you..."

The laughter turned to a sob.

"You _can't_ have him," he finished in a whimper. "We're just not that blessed mate, get over it."

Straightening up, he focused his attention back on the road and at the building coming into sight. He was minutes away from his fate, floors away from his family and he was hesitating.

Pushing out of the car, and slipping to the floor, he shuffled closer; the itching desire to stop his secret from finding the open air declining. If they knew, he could stop kidding himself and accept the fact that he wasn't getting what he wanted. That in the next few minutes, he would be able to claim he had Derek Hale for all of five hours before he managed to fuck up and lose him.

He was on the stairs now, feet climbing up in a steady rhythm, but he hadn't even noticed entering the building. Hadn't noticed passing the first few floors and getting that much closer to everything he was trying to avoid.

Straightening his shoulders, Stiles lifted his chin and walked with more purpose. He could do this. He could take the rejection and the disgusted and hurt faces without breaking down. He could take it and then run – run back to his father and laugh in the man's face because he was right,

John Stilinski had claimed that would accept him, and he couldn't have been more _wrong._

As he neared the top of the building, he could hear an uproar, and winced, realising they already knew. The closer he got, the more he could hear, and the first few sentences made him frown in confusion.

" _You kissed Stilinski?"_

" _Finally!"_

" _I didn't even know he liked guys."_

" _Dude, are you serious?"_

" _I hope you'll both keep the public displays of affection to a minimum, nephew."_

And just as suddenly as the noise had started, it stopped, the silence suddenly heavy and tainted by something dark. Stiles wasn't sure why the pack had stopped so rapidly – perhaps they heard him coming? – but soon another voice was speaking and he recognized it with pained realisation.

"Oh my god. Oh my _god."_

Stiles rested his hand on the door handle, eyes closing as his face contorted in a wince. There was the sound of pure and horrified regret. He almost felt bad for the alpha – since the man had tainted his good name with that of a spastic teens.

"Derek?" and that was Isaac, being the usual concerned creature that he was.

And that was all his panic needed to reach new heights, curling in his chest like a coiled spring. He didn't hear the next words of his alpha, all of it forming white noise as he slammed the door open with a heaving chest. The room's eyes snapped to him, and he knew without even checking that he was probably pale and shaking like a leaf. All he could focus on was the papers lining the coffee table.

"I changed my mind," he croaked out, hurrying forward and grabbing a random handful of paper. "You _can't_ have the information because, uh, Deaton asked for it back."

He turned sharply and moved towards the door, just stepping over the threshold when he finally registered the shock of blue decorating the information in his alpha's hands. Stiles had dropped the tomes and sheaths of paper to the ground when he realised what the man was holding, and somewhere in his head, someone was laughing at him and his ill fortune. Of course the wolf had been reading it. It explained the horror on his features.

Stiles' next movements were slowed, but he moved back to the man, one hand coming away from his body. Derek started back, understanding littering his hazel eyes and drawing his mouth down to a perfect astonished circle. He tried to pull his eyes away from the hypnotising colour, but whiskey orbs were stubborn and he watched the hurt flicker next, swiftly turning to betrayal.

"I need this," Stiles whispered, gently taking the paper from the man's hands. Surprisingly it was relinquished easily, the wolf too shock to do little more than stare.

Derek blinked rapidly, eyes lashes fluttering. "It's you," he whispered back.

Stiles didn't know why, but he nodded and backed away again, heart pounding in his chest. The paper was crumpled in his hands as he moved with surprising grace for his lanky form. "Yeah," he allowed, voice only a little louder than a whisper. "Yeah."

Derek surged forward, going to his feet and that was all his panic littered mind needed to realise he needed to leave now. He almost fell backwards trying to get away from the advancing alpha and turned to run. It was the only thing he could do.

Fight or flight – and there wasn't a chance in hell of him taking on the alpha wolf.

He could hear stuttering footsteps behind him, the wolves hesitating in the chase for a few seconds. The added time was all he needed and he practically flew down the stairs while they collected whatever was left of their awareness and began to follow.

Stiles was slamming the door of his jeep when he spotted Derek hit the landing through the open front door. The man's face was panicked as well, like he wasn't sure why he was chasing but the teenager didn't stop. Slamming down on the accelerator he reversed quickly and took off, checking his rare view mirror with blurring eyes.

And he'd thought he could take it?

 _Hide. Need to hide. Alpha is angry._

Stiles could only agree with the small voice, nodding as it bounced around his mind. The garbled voice of his fox had a point. Derek was mad, and if he hid and waited for the man to calm down, the chances of him coming out unscathed would rise. He would face the dark haired hunk when said hunk wasn't willing to tear him limb from limb. He wasn't running and hiding, he was taking a quick time out.

He took some corners a little too fast, and knew he would be arrested if anyone caught him. He was probably breaking more laws than humanly possible in the short trip home, but occasionally Stiles would look to his mirrors and see a flash of movement. Catch his pursuers for a split second and that was all his heart needed to pound double time.

Grunting at the latest sharp turn, he threw the car into park. "Inside now," he rushed out, falling out of the vehicle and sprinting inside. He didn't bother locking it or the door behind him. It wasn't like it would help.

"Stiles?"

Oh, great. Just great. His dad was home. That was exactly what he needed now; a witness to his brutal and untimely murder. Not only was the hunter going to be pissed, but so was his dad. And his dad owned a gun.

John frowned at the panic, moving to his feet. "Stiles? Shit, what's wrong?"

"I need to hide," Stiles gasped, tugging his shirt over his head. The best places to hide wouldn't fit his teenage body, so he stripped, focusing his hearing and making sure he couldn't heel the wolves panting at his heels. "I have to hide _now_."

He was busy tugging his jeans off when a hand landed on his forearms. "Stiles, what are you hiding from?" John demanded, stopping all his movement with twin hands on either cheek. "Son, please talk to me."

He could hear them now, the pounding of their feet against the pavement. "The pack," he blurted, falling backwards and focusing _everything_ he had on starting the change. His voice came out garbled and wrecked, twisted by the changing vocal chords.

"They know what I am and I have to hide."

* * *

 **I love you guys and I hope you love me! Look at this – it's your update! Oh I hope you like it. I'm fond of this chapter, but the next one is even better!..**

 **Also, guys, I'm bored. I would love some prompts if you have any yeah? Teen Wolf is preferable – romance, action, anything – but if you guys want another fandom, and I'm well versed in it then I'll do it for you!**

 **Taila xx**


	18. Bitch, I Want My Twinkie

His shoes were almost screaming, the soles feeling seconds away from bursting into flames as he skidded around the last corner; erupting onto the empty street. He could faintly hear a door slamming, the sound echoing with a terrifying sense of finality as his eyes shot to the house in question.

Stiles...

After the loud sound, the house didn't move; remaining silent and dead so he started sprinting again, his hands pumping at his sides. How had he not seen this? Ever since day one – meeting the boy on the preserve – his wolf had _never_ raised its hackles in the teenager's direction; content and comfortable in the boy's presence like he'd always been there. Humans could be pack, he knew that, but they couldn't be...

They couldn't be so damn _perfect_ , could they?

Damn it, he should have seen it! His wolf was the most untrusting creature to walk the earth, yet it had rolled over and accepted whiskey eyes without protest. And he'd never questioned it. He was as much to blame as the animal inside.

Slowing into a lope as he approached the house, Derek let his breath return to him with gulping demands. The pack was stumbling to a stop around him as well; each of them panting and begging for air as they doubled over. They'd all sprinted quite the distance, dutifully following the coloured vehicle running from them, so he gave them a few minutes to regain their breath as reward.

"Why..." Isaac lifted one hand, almost as though he was begging for people to wait for him to finish. It took him a few seconds, but he managed to lift his head again, features flushed red. "Why did he run?"

Derek blinked at the boy, body shifting as he moved to face the front door again. "Wouldn't you?" he murmured, swallowing back a sharper retort with a quick roll of his shoulders. "If you lied to your family for months – years – and they found out the truth; would you run or stay to face the thunder?"

Isaac eyed him for a few beats, cheek twitching, before he leant to the side and whispered; "If Derek is the thunder, I suddenly don't blame him for running."

"You don't?" Derek demanded, peering over his shoulder.

Grinning, the teenager offered up a lazy shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're a little terrifying dude," he allowed, cocking a brow at the expectant look. "So you haven't looked in a mirror lately then? Well, I hate to break it to you but you have _resting bitch face syndrome."_

"I know," Derek snapped without any real heat, shaking his head as he stormed forward. His hand rested on the doorknob and he twisted it slowly, slightly shocked to see it moved easily under his fingers. _He didn't lock it?_

Isaac came up behind him, taking up the spot at his right. "Really? How?"

Pushing the door open, Derek stared into the house, blinking at the sight of the town's sheriff mutely standing in the middle of the room. The older male was silent; his eyes glued to a pile of clothing in the middle of the room with something similar to pleased anger. "Stiles told me," he murmured, moving forward with slight worry. "Sheriff? Are you okay?"

John turned, mouth open in surprise. "What – What just happened?" he muttered.

Derek looked over the room quickly, scanning for whiskey eyes. "I don't know," he admitted shortly, stepping further into the house and looking around more. He couldn't find where the teen had disappeared too, and his features fell further into anger. "Why don't you tell us?"

John frowned, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he turned to face the newcomers. "I was about to order a pizz – a _healthy_ and organic meal from this place my _amazing_ son showed me..." the man spoke louder, turning to face the nearest wall before falling silent for a few seconds. As suddenly as he had stopped speaking, he continued. "When said son literally slammed down the door, it looked like he'd run a marathon and – and," his eyes narrowed. "He was running from _you_."

And cue the pointed – and slightly vicious – look.

Derek sighed, but didn't so much as flinch under the harsh glare. "His little secret isn't so secret anymore," he said in lieu of answering, stepping over the discarded shirt in the doorway. "Where is he, John?"

The older man studied him for a few seconds, mouth working. "Why do you wanna know?"

The demand was voiced somewhat stubbornly and poutily, like a child would declare it wasn't happy, and too top it all off the man was crossing his arms against his chest. For a split second, Stiles was standing there instead of his father – and judging by the snickers sounding behind him, his pack saw the resemblance as well.

"We need to talk."

John lifted both brows almost comically. "He's been lying to you – sorry, sorry _hiding_ the truth for more than a year – and you wanna _talk_?" he snorted, and the almost playful look turned to stone. "What do you really want, Hale?"

 _Oh, we're resorting to first and last names now._

Derek frowned and took a step back from the man, brow lowering over his eyes. He opened his mouth to answer, realising too late that he didn't have one. What _did_ he want? The boy had been twisting truths since day one – _lying, he meant lying but if the sheriff wasn't saying it out loud than neither was he_ – and yes; there was the sharp burn of hurt festering in his chest but...

He wasn't angry and in some darkened corner of his mind – he'd known.

"I want to talk," Derek rehashed, sticking with his first request. "He owes us that much."

At the words, John's face crumpled and the man sighed and nodded, moving to sit down. "Go ahead then," he muttered, wiping a hand down his face. "At least it's finally out in the open. Kid might stop beating himself up now, you know?" he continued, smiling weakly over the alpha.

Derek nodded. "I know," he replied with a brisk nod, because he actually _did_. He'd seen the sudden loathing that would take over the smile and shine to the boy's eyes, but he'd never know what had caused it. Not until today. "Where is he?"

"Hiding, of course. It's Stiles."

Rolling his eyes, the dark haired man breath out; "Where?"

And the playful demeanour was back on the older male's face, lighting up the mischievous gleam to his eyes. John's lips tugged up, and with the expression, the pack found they regretted everything they'd done _ever._

"If I told you, then it wouldn't be fun, would it?"

Derek groaned, not bothering to hide the pained sound like he usually did. He didn't have time for this bullshit. He wanted Stiles _now_. "Really?" he demanded, not even going to try threatening the man like he usually would have. It wasn't like he'd ever tried before, but something told him that flashing his teeth and red eyes wouldn't earn more than an exasperated sigh.

John eyed him again, but mirth was dancing in his eyes. "China cupboard," he revealed after a few seconds. "No one ever thinks to look in the china cupboard, so there's his logic for you."

Nodding simply, he stormed over to the cupboard and all but _ripped_ the door from its handles in his haste. He stared into the cabinet, cheeks twitching and chest heaving. The blasted thing was empty. Biting back the growl building in his chest, Derek closed his eyes for a few seconds and took a calming breath. He could do this. He could deal with the _frustrating frustration_ caused by both the younger and older generation of the Stilinski family.

Turning to peer over his shoulder, he forced a smile on his lips. "He's not in there," he bit out carefully.

John was staring back with a ghost of a smile, but he pushed to his feet. "Stiles has weird logic," he offered as explanation before he moved a little ways down the room. His fist came away from his body and lifted, hovering near his head. "No one ever thinks to look in the walls either."

And with that, he banged his closed fist on the wall exactly three time times. The whole pack shot back in surprise when the sound of chittering and startled yelps echoed from inside the walls, sounding from behind the light coats of paint. After that, it was almost like there was a rat infestation; paws and claws scrambling rapidly and getting closer to the currently shell shocked alpha.

When John hit the wall again, this time lower down and closer to the cupboard, the scrambling was even louder. Derek's eyes snapped back to the open door and saw a dark mass at the back.

"Is that a hole in the wall?" he muttered, leaning forward with widening eyes.

John nodded and absently whacked the wall again. "I kicked a hole in the wall after a hard case a while back. Seizing the opportunity, my teenage son then used a wood saw and cut a hole in the back of our cabinet. It's been useful on the odd occasion," he shrugged before hitting even harder. "You either get out yourself, or I resort to the sledgehammer, Stiles. Last chance."

Refusing to show he was vaguely impressed at the threat, Derek watched as golden eyes peered out at him through the small hole. The usual bright colour was dulled somewhat, and he'd have to be blind not to see the worry and fear dancing in the amber depths. Something in his chest cracked.

"Hey," Derek sighed, holding out a hand with a barely there smile. Small teeth snapped at him and he winced, flexing his fingers as they started to heal the shallow wounds. "Don't," he commanded. "I'm not a threat Stiles."

He could almost hear the boy mutter back. _Wanna bet sourwolf?_

"Come on; hiding isn't going to get you anywhere," Derek tried instead, leaning further into the cabinet and reaching out. The tips of his fingers brushed against the fur on the creature's head just as his wider frame and broad shoulders stopped him from going any further.

 _It'll get me away from you._

How well did he really know the teenager? How close were they, if he was able to imagine an accurate reply?

Closing his eyes, Derek swallowed down the realisation before he focused his attention back on the small kit. "Listen, I'm not angry," he promised in a quiet whisper. "But we need to talk about this okay? I need to know why you lied to us."

"How about; 'cause of your resting bitch face?"

Derek growled, eyes flashing red for a split second. "Isaac, watch it," he warned, looking over his shoulder with the perfected look of annoyance.

The curly headed boy shrunk back, hands held up in surrender. "I'm just saying," Isaac grumbled, backing away when the fire in reddening eyes brightened. "I would lie too and try to avoid whatever you got going on with those eyebrows of yours."

 _And the role of Stiles Stilinski will be played but his sarcastic padawan; Isaac Lahey._

Derek blinked. "I'm only used the _eyebrows_ because he didn't tell me the truth. If he had told me, then I wouldn't have the need to use said eyebrows," he pointed out, narrowing his eyes as he tried to think through the logic. "So really, he's the one who set himself up the eyebrows and resting bitch face."

"Can't argue with that logic," John voiced from across the room.

Derek's eyes flickered over to the man, before going back to his pup and _then_ back to the cupboard and amber eyes. All his previous annoyance with said pup faded when he noted the warm body pressing against his hand, finally recognizing the argument for what it was – a way for the nervous kit to feel safe and comfortable.

Stiles was always the main contestant in the pack teasing; quick with a comeback, but just as quick to watch and laugh at the playful attitudes. And afterwards, he'd always be a little brighter. Derek made a mental note to thank his adopted pup later, and then to scold himself for not thinking about how scared his fox must have been.

Stiles looked back at him with big golden eyes, and the older man sighed, reaching in with his other hand and picking up the smaller body. The fox didn't struggle, his form limp as he accepted his fate and let the man dump him onto his lap, both of them settling back against the wall with twin sounds of nervousness.

They had to talk. They _had too_. But Derek had never really been all that good with words...

"Okay," Derek murmured. "So we got this far."

Stiles looked up at him, lifting a paw to bat at his chin carefully; claws scratching through the short stubble there. The wide golden eyes were still open and hurting, and absently a large palm came up to cover thin shoulder blades in comfort.

"Yeah, I know," Derek chuckled humourlessly, leaning against the wall with closed eyes. " _Use your words sourwolf,"_ he repeated like a mantra, shoulder's slumping in defeat. "I just don't really have any words to use right now."

Silence.

"I do."

And with the new voice, his eyes snapped open, flashing red again as his calm was shattered like glass. Not even appearing fazed, Isaac turned and nudged the shorter boy beside him. "You owe me twenty bucks and a twinkie," he announced. "It wasn't Greenburg."

Scott started spluttering, turning to fully face the other boy and begin to argue passionately. Across the room, both the fox and the wolf watched with a bored air.

"Why didn't you tell us when you realised the hunter was after you?" Derek murmured quietly, not interrupting the loud conversation happening around them. "Why not when we figured out there was fox in town?"

Stiles buried his nose in the man's chest, the cold skin pressing against warmer flesh. A small chitter left him, almost sounding apologetic as it ran up the vocal scale before dipping back into a lower growl. It was the only answer the kit gave him and he sighed, running his hand down a darkly coloured back.

Derek nodded, understanding without words. "Better yet, why didn't you tell us when people started getting bitten last year?"

Stiles made another small noise, this time lifting both paws and digging at the same chest he'd been shuffling against. It was all he seemed to have to say – body shifting back and forth unsurely, before a chittering grumble came up from his throat. Having finished, the fox whacked the firm chest under his paws before moving up to slap a stubbled cheek.

"Worst argument I've ever heard," Derek chuckled deeply, chest rumbling and shaking the creature resting there. "I was expecting a little better from you and – wait," he sat up. "Do you guys hear something?"

The argument turned shouting match stopped, the voices falling into silence as suddenly as they'd picked up. All eyes snapped to the front of the house, taking in the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, as bodies began to tense up and hunker down. Derek moved his hands so he was cradling the small creature in his hands, ready to protect it at a moment's notice.

"Were you expecting someone?" he rumbled, turning to the owner of the household.

John mutely shook his head.

Footsteps were approaching the house now, and everyone stiffened further, lowering down and readying claws and teeth. When the door knob twisted again, Derek almost surged to his feet and hid the small fox behind him, but familiar features peered through before he had the chance to even twitch.

"Did I miss anything?" Peter asked, gently closing the front door behind him and removing his shoes and jacket politely. He nodded to the owner of the household before giving his alpha his full attention. "Correction; did I miss anything _important."_

Derek blinked, slumping back and relaxing. "Did you _drive_ here?"

Peter nodded, marching further into the house. "Why bother running all this way?" he scoffed, waving a hand uselessly. "I already knew the whole secret scandal anyway, so why rush? I wasn't dying for answers."

"Wait – was I the only one who didn't know?" Scott demanded incredulously. His hands were currently digging through his wallet, but they froze, twenty dollar note crumpled under his fingers. "How long have _you_ known?"

Peter turned a sly grin on the boy, and held out a hand expectantly. "I knew long before I made a certain bet with you saying it wasn't Greenburg. Last time I checked, you owed me a twinkie," he announced, the grin growing. "Keep the twenty, I don't need it. But I need my twinkie. And if I'm forced to wait more than a few minutes; I'll twink with your insides."

Derek's attention moved from the threats – he really needed to scold his uncle – to the smaller paws digging at his shirt. "Hmm?" he questioned, taking in the big amber orbs staring him down. "Does he owe you a twinkie as well or something?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, and settled against his upper body, tucking his face into the man's neck. Expecting a friendly chitter, the alpha was shocked to receive an angered and clearly annoyed snarl. The sound made him start back, and he lifted a hand to the raised fur nervously, blinking at the bared teeth near his throat.

"Whoa, whoa," he reprimanded slowly, carefully patting down raised hackles. "What's wrong?"

The golden irises gained a sheen of desperation, and carefully the wolf pushed to his feet, holding the fox against his chest. "You might wanna change back, Stiles, I can't understand you remember?" he pointed out, lifting both brows before peering around the house.

It took him a few seconds to find the staircase, and once he'd checked on his pack, he moved towards them; still cradling the animal to his chest. He could feel eyes on his back – and teeth on his neck, stop it – but continued walking, understanding why the boy's father was watching him. Turning, he nodded slowly to the older male.

John nodded back after a few silent beats, pushing to his feet. "I'm gonna go get some pizza," he decided. "You're all staying for dinner?"

The pack loudly agreed – _Pizza? Where?_ – and Derek smiled shortly before continuing to trek up the stairs, not really bothering to notice where exactly he was walking. He knew his way around the house well enough without actively moving his own legs in a certain direction, so he shifted his attention to the needle like teeth gnawing on his collar bone.

"Okay, whatever I did, I'm sorry," Derek grunted out. "But stop biting me," he growled, leaning back so his face was out of range just in case the stubble phase struck the fox again.

Stiles made a similar noise back, the echo torn between a growl and a chitter.

"You want down huh? Fine." Derek was quick to spread his hands out wide, smiling when the smaller body dropped to the floor with a solid _thud_. Once the kit regained its bearings, golden eyes snapped up in annoyance. "How's it going down there? Chilly? You know, I heard that all hot air goes up..."

And that would be a bite to his ankle.

Resting one foot on the ground and lifting the other with a loud curse, he waited as the small fox wandered across the room. "That was unnecessary," he grumbled, obediently reaching down to open a drawer when twin paws clawed at it. "Change back already would you. I'd like to have an actual conversation."

When sharp teeth tugged out a pair of sweats, the alpha felt his brows lift. "Oh," he announced dumbly. "You need clothes."

Stiles gave him an unimpressed look, and watched as the older dark haired male rummaged around for a few minutes. Eventually the man managed to pull out a thin sleep shirt and pair of boxer shorts that vaguely matched the dark grey sweat pants.

"Here," Derek thrust the clothing in his direction. "Change back now."

Stiles stared back dumbly.

"What?" Derek asked, frowning. "You want me to leave?"

Stiles nodded quickly, moving over to the clothing and yanking it closer. When the sweats were safely nestled underneath him, he looked up with wide and expectant eyes, the orbs drifting over to the door when he noticed the other man wasn't moving. After a few seconds, he chittered and resettled his body on the pile of clothing.

"I'm happy where I am," Derek decided, grinning widely and folding his arms against his chest. "Don't look so offended Stiles; you've seen me shirtless so it's only fair you return the favour."

The fox looked so affronted at the comment that the man just had to laugh, shuffling across the room and dropping his body on the bed. Turning, he smothered his face in the nearest pillow, lifting a hand to reveal a thumbs up to the creature on the floor. Some of his mind was suggesting he focus on the change happening behind him, curious as to how a lanky teenager managed to turn into a cat sized fox, but the rest of him was enraptured by the pillow he was using as a blindfold.

Spice, with just the faintest whiff of dark chocolate.

 _Stiles._

Derek breathed in a few seconds, closing his eyes and savouring the smell with wistful wanting. He forgot how good the boy smelt, how he felt under his hands...

Maybe that was why he wasn't angry? Because he'd already forgiven the boy.

"Alright, you're a prick but I guess I earned it," said teenager announced suddenly, and then there was warmth along his back, spreading like a blanket over his body.

Derek grunted when the boy landed on him, all limbs and nervous smiles. "Graceful," he commented idly. "And yes, you earned it all. But you _still_ owe me answers, you know? Lots of answers. And probably apologies as well. And hell, throw in a twinkie too because now I want one."

"You're starting to sound like me," Stiles warned quietly.

Derek hummed back, not bothered by the comment.

"I am sorry, if that uh, if that means anything," Stiles murmured after a few seconds, his voice slightly torn between hurt and apologetic. "Really sorry."

The hum turned into another grunt. "I said apologies _and_ answers remember..." Derek drawled, feeling the boy breathe against his skin, and resisting the urge to shiver as goosebumps lifted. "No pressure."

He could feel the teenager nod against his back slowly. "Hey, did you know it took me _weeks_ to convince Scott that he was a werewolf? Literal weeks. Stupid idiot didn't wanna believe me," Stiles sighed out, his playful tone strained. "But I was hopeful, you know, when he got bitten. I could finally tell him the truth about me. Tell him I could turn into a fox, heal my wounds, smell what he had for dinner the night before..."

Derek perked up. "You have advanced senses as well?" he questioned, lifting his head slightly and turning it just enough so whiskey eyes peered into his own.

"More or less, when I'm not trying to smother them under humanness."

"Humanness can't be a word."

"Well, it is now. Do you want your answers or not?" Stiles demanded, a hand slapping the man's other shoulder before the warmth settled against his upper back again. "Anyway I was hopeful, and when my best friend didn't even believe me, it kinda crushed me a little. Then when all that crap happened with your uncle..." he shrugged, and somehow managed to worm his body in even closer, fingers scratching at the shorter hairs on the older man's neck.

Derek stayed quiet, his face still tilted to the side and curious. He could faintly see the boy's features, his eyes and the corner of his lips being the bare minimum, while he could still smell him clearly from where his nose was pressed into the fabric. But while the scent and sight was pleasing enough, the best feeling was the sense of warmth flooding over his body. Stiles really had just _flopped_ over him.

"People were dying," Stiles whispered. "I didn't wanna throw on that I knew everything, you know? Dad – Dad told me that when he and mum first moved here, that they had to talk to your mum?"

Derek nodded, pretending not to notice the nervous hint to the boy's voice. "I know," he murmured. "Well, I don't remember her or anything besides the spicy smell, but I know that... I remember hearing about the werefox once, and now I realise who it really was."

"My mother, who was pregnant with me at the time," Stiles pointed out. "How old you were back then? Isn't that like, really creepy? You knew me before I was even born dude," he snickered, burying his laughing mouth into the crease of the older man's neck. "You must've have been about six?"

Derek just shrugged.

"Eh, you're right, it's not like I need the extra chance to do any math anyway; school had enough for me as it is," Stiles decided, plunging right back into his story like he'd never changed the topic. "Anyway, I didn't want to throw any more information on everyone right? So I decided I'd tell him, tell all of you, once everything had settled down. Only, things _didn't_ settle down, did they?" he questioned. "Since you decided to go around biting random teenagers!"

Growling under the firm finger poking his cheek, Derek turned a scowl on the teenager. "You're just lucky I didn't bite you."

Stiles stilled for a few seconds, entire body tense. "If you had done that, I would've died," he announced matter-of-factly, settling comfortably against broad shoulders again. "You can't be a fox and a wolf."

Derek blinked at the words, slightly surprised and wary. "I'll remember that," he promised lightly.

"It's why I said no when Peter offered me the bite."

" _Peter offered?"_

Derek surged backwards with a shockingly quick movement, one hand shooting away to catch the body falling from his own. He spun his body as hurriedly as he could with the added weight, and managed to end up face to face with the teenager that had previously been reclining on his back. His own legs were awkwardly splayed with the boy between them, but Stiles was every which way; limbs askew while features remained pale.

"Y-yes?" Stiles murmured softly, blinking as he came to terms with their new positions. It only took him a few seconds to settle down again, and he tucked his head back against the man's neck. "Don't get jealous, pooh bear."

Ignoring the pet name, Derek but out; "When did he offer?"

He could feel the teenager's eyelashes brush against his collarbone. "Prom night? Yeah, it was after he kidnapped me or whatever," he waved one hand wildly and the alpha had to duck to avoid being knocked out.

"And you said no?"

"Well, if I said yes, I'd be dead."

Derek blinked and shifted, awkwardly wrapping his arms around the teenager before slumping backwards against the bedding again. The boy came with him, squawking at the second sudden change before he once again settled without another vocal complaint. The warmth shared between them made his wolf purr in contentment, and his eyes flickered up to the ceiling, playing back the last few hours like a film behind the hazel irises.

"You're the fox," he muttered, swallowing. "And you made us think it was someone completely different."

Stiles leant back, pushing up onto his elbows. "You're mad?" he guessed almost hopefully, whiskey eyes staring down into his own. "Angry. Furious..."

Derek shifted under the weight change, suddenly a little _too_ aware of the boy draped over him. Breathing in carefully, and savouring the heat and scent, he shook his head. "No, I'm not," he admitted quietly, looking back into amber depths. "Don't ask me why because I don't know."

"Maybe you knew it was me?" Stiles mumbled, looking up at him through his lashes. "You'd already guessed – because holy shit, it was so obvious – but you didn't _want_ to know it was me. The whole ignorance is bliss deal?"

Derek stared at him for a few seconds, refusing to admit that was his reasoning as well.

Sighing, he used his lips to blow out a raspberry. "No, I'm calling bullshit," he decided to say, slumping back and staring up at the ceiling.

Once again, a squealing sound that also couldn't been a squeak sounded from the teenager's mouth. "Okay then what's your reasoning?" Stiles demanded, eyes flashing slightly. " _I don't know why I'm angry_ , isn't going to cut it."

"Want me to be angry instead?" Derek grumbled lowly, recognizing the fury glowing in amber orbs. "Cause I can be angry."

Stiles snorted, pushing his quivering body up further. His eyes were flashing dangerously, hurt and defensiveness being pushed into anger. "Listen here _Hulk_ ; I know how angry you can be. I healed many a bruise after _you_ slammed me into doors," he snapped, jabbing a finger into the chest below him. "But I lied to you and I cheated and – and I didn't act like _pack!_ Like family. I want you to be angry because I deserve it! Say the truth for once, not that you're not even angry with me!"

Derek just shook his head. "I'm not going to lash out at you, Stiles," he declared.

"Why the flying fuck not?" Stiles yelled, and another slap hit the skin below him. "You have to have more in your thick skull than forgiveness! You couldn't even tell that I wasn't human – for over a bloody year. What kind of alpha does that make _you_?"

Derek growled and surged up with movement again, this time spinning the boy around so his back collided with the bed beside him. Once the teenager was on the mattress, he shot up and pinned him down with his hips and hands.

"Derek, what the hell are – "

"No, shut up," Derek growled. "Now it's my turn. _You_ lied to us; we were your pack but you decided that we weren't even worth the goddamn time and effort it would've taken for you to sit down and tell us? After all we've fucking down for you, this is how you repay us?" He pressed thin shoulders further into the covers, swooping down to force the teen's attention on him. "There is a hunter in town, trying to kill you and we've been panicking and chasing our tails trying to help while you've been what? Relaxing and eating pizza while acting like everything's okay?"

A swift kick to his skins had him hissing and hunching over. It was all the younger male needed to get the one up on him, and spin them back over.

"Acting like everything's okay?" Stiles repeated haughtily. "Are you fucking shitting me? Do you know how much of a wreck I've been lately? I would hype myself up and get ready to tell you, but then I'd crash when the fucking voices in my head told me I wasn't good enough for you! Or maybe the voice would belong to one of my pack! _Oh Derek doesn't like humans. Derek's happy to have foxy in the pack because humans make it weak!"_

Derek leant back, revealing his throat and just laughed, the sound tainted my bitterness. "Every wolf knows how strong a human makes a pack," he hissed back, slowing pressing up despite the teen trying to hold him down. "And keeping you close by, keeping you _in_ the pack made me a fucking smart alpha."

"You kept me around because I made you stronger?" Stiles demanded, some of the anger turned back into hurt. "Well congratulations, hows that going for you now?"

"Pretty damn well," Derek murmured back.

"What about me?" Stiles hissed. "Don't think about yourself for once, and think about how I felt about this. I carried the weight of those lies on my shoulders, thinking you were keeping me around for selfish reasons and now you've gone and _admitted_ it?"

Derek let out another growl, honestly getting angry now. He was almost sitting up now, still continuing to push against the palms attempting to hold him down. "I did keep you around for selfish reasons," he rumbled. "Because I loved watching you, being close by, knowing you were there. Call me selfish for that, and I'd probably agree."

Stiles stilled, confused and the other man took the chance to flip the tables again. It was almost like a game of tug and war and with a moment of pure brute strength; Derek was on top again, panting wildly and watching the boy in his arms. He didn't say anything else after that, and let his words sink in, instead forcing the dark haired teen into the mattress and giving him no space.

And, just like he'd predicted; Stiles started struggling after a few seconds. "Let me go!" he demanded, jerking back and forth while kicking out and practically spitting and hissing. Derek just stared back, absorbing the flashing golden eyes and reddening cheeks.

 _How can he be so stunningly angry?_

With careful movements, he leant down until they were a hairs breadth apart, breathing in the same air. Sensing someone so close, the teenager stopped thrashing his head and the wolf took the chance; swooping in to press his lips against the bitten lips beneath him.

Derek was expecting even more of a fight, for his lips to be torn, but the teenager slumped and pressed back almost desperately, a keening sound echoing from his throat. The kiss was a lot messier than their first, which was only hours before, and it was a clash of teeth and grabbing hands. Nails were clawing at his back, and he pressed his body even closer, hoping to alleviate whatever starving desire the boy was trying to sate.

Teeth bit at his lower lip almost viciously, and with a shocked sound he opened his mouth, pleased when a warm tongue immediately started exploring. A muffled moan sounded, and he wasn't entirely sure who it came from, but the feel of a warm body beneath his own and a slick muscle in his mouth vetoed his pride completely.

Pulling back, Derek breathed heavily, blinking when the fox tried to follow his lips. "Stiles, stop," he panted, shaking his head. "We – we should really stop."

Stiles whimpered, and damn if that sound didn't cause something to curl into the older man's stomach. "Why?" he demanded. "Why would I want to stop? I like kissing you and I kinda thought I'd never get the chance again, so..." he tugged at broad shoulders again.

"Why?" Derek asked, refusing to be pulled.

"I thought you'd hate me," Stiles chuckles humourlessly. "I would've managed to snag of one the most eligible bachelors and then lost him, all in under eight hours."

Finally understanding the boy's desperation, Derek gave in and lowered his body, nuzzling against the offered neck with as much warmth as he could manage. "Even if I was angry Stiles, I wouldn't have..." he shook his head, and pressed an open mouthed kiss to the warm skin under his lips. "I wouldn't have given you up."

"You – you wouldn't have given me up?" Stiles repeated quietly, back arching up ever so slightly.

"I just snagged you as well," Derek murmured against his pulse point. "If I managed to lose you after only a few hours, I'd have people left and right telling me how stupid I was."

Stiles snorted. "Oh you, you are a funny man."

Smiling lightly, Derek switched from lips to teeth, running the sharpened ridges over the boy's beating heart. The already rapid rhythm speed up even more, and he ran them lower; nibbling on the edge of the boy's collarbone. "I like to think that," he murmured. "But from what I'm hearing, you're more than a little blind?"

"Huh?"

The light smile turned into a full-blown grin. "You must be if you're missing the looks you get in the street," Derek pointed out, frowning as he pulled back ever so slightly. The boy had a lot of moles, speckled over the skin on display - _I wonder if I could connect them all; including the ones beneath the clothing..._

Stiles chuckled weakly, and a hand came up to grip dark hair. "Thanks pretty boy," he muttered almost disdainfully. "But you know that most of those looks are probably people wondering how they could manage to kill me without the cops tracing it back to them – all so they could have _you_."

Derek pulled back completely, his own face hovering inches above the other below it. "I know the difference between envious and awed, and even when I see jealous; I'm usually the one on the receiving end of murderous plots"

"How _would_ one kill a werewolf?" Stiles wondered.

Derek chuckled and moved to answer, only stopping when he heard a car pull into the driveway. Cocking his head ever so slightly, he turned to smile down at the boy again. "Your dad is back with pizza."

The teenager blinked for a few seconds. "Oh? Oh, that's good. I want food," he declared, smiling widely. Leaning up, he pressed a solid kiss against smiling lips, before tapping against the man's shoulder. "Come now, stop crushing me."

Derek pressed back for a few seconds, before he nodded and pulled back, taking the boy with him. "Come on then," he murmured, and when they were both standing, he pressed another kiss to warm lips. "The pack are staying tonight, and no arguments. I don't think we'd wanna be away from you after the news."

Stiles smiled and leant in for a hug, arms snaking around his shoulders. "No arguments. You count too?"

Derek closed his eyes, embracing the boy back as he gently breathed in the spicy scent. "I count too Stiles," he whispered, hearing the back yell downstairs when the food arrived. He smiled and tucked the boy in closer, rubbing his cheek against soft hair. "I'm not leaving you, foxy."

* * *

 **Well, wasn't that beautiful? Oh that chapter was interesting... A good amount of words too, phew, so if there are any mistakes I'm sorry but I'm sick of reading this chapter ;)**

 **I hope you liked it!**

 **Taila xx**


	19. Family Talks

It was official.

Derek gave the bestest, cuddliest, warmest hugs in all of sourwolf history.

The man knew just how tight to hold, and where to rest his chin so that the sharp lines didn't dig into a softer shoulder or harder outline of a skull. He was content to _hold_ the hug too, which was important – what was the use of a good hug that only lasted a few seconds anyway? – and knew how to move so his bulky frame became protecting instead of threatening. Also, he had the _rubbing a hand up and down the spine_ thing down pat.

Stiles hummed into the connection, rubbing his nose into the crook of a strong neck. "You smell nice," he murmured cheekily, taking a deep breath in for good measure. "Like nice smelling things."

"You should become a poet," Derek rumbled above him, and his chest thrummed with the low sound. "People all around the world would relate to your work," he continued with a dry chuckle. "They'd relate to nice smelling people and their nice smells."

Snorting, the teenager continued with an edge of teasing to his voice. "Would you rather I tell you that you smell nice, but only because the scent of flowers is so appetising?"

The firmer body in his arms tensed. "I smell like what?"

Stiles grinned and wiggled his body even closer, confusing even himself with _how_ exactly he did that. "You smell like fall," he whispered, closing his eyes and breathing again. "Like the forest after rain, when the leaves litter the ground and dance through the air as they fall from the oaks."

Silence came, and he could've sworn the hands pressing against his spine warmed. "Maybe you _should_ be a poet," Derek muttered, chuckling as he pulled back slightly. "You smell like spiced chocolate. And moth balls."

Adopting an unimpressed expression, Stiles unwound his arms from leather encased shoulders. "Wow," he snorted, rolling his eyes as he pushed the male away from his body gently. "Chill it with the love declarations."

"I wasn't the one who hid in a wall."

The dry humour made him start back, golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "You're just jealous that your furry ass can't _fit_ in a wall," he decided, making a snotty noise as he moved towards the bedroom door. "Remember when I told you that you looked fat in that jacket? You thought I was lying didn't you? Shame, that."

Derek growled, and _damn_ it if that sound didn't do things for his libido. "Don't push it," the dark haired male warned.

"Push what? Your ass out the door after you've stuffed your mouth with pizza?" Stiles grinned over his shoulder. "We might need a crane to get you out of here actually..." he mused, pursing his lips in thought. "Where the hell can you hire a crane?"

"In the afterlife, which is where you'll be going if you don't _shut it_ ," Derek breathed near his ear, and a sharp pain invaded his side as his skin was pinched. "Muscles weighs more than fat, so any weight I shouldn't be holding can be attributed to the glorious definition I have on my body, hows that?"

Stiles eyed said body almost nervously, eyes flickering up to hazel. "Humble, aren't you?" he rolled his eyes. "I don't know how you do it; it must be hard to remain so modest about such a _glorious_ bod."

"Oh, it is," Derek grinned and pushed him forward, leading him down the stairs with the same shit eating look on his face. "If you want, I can start you on some kind of training. Since you're capable of healing, I won't be so nervous about throwing you into things." The offer was softly spoken, all hints of amusement gone, and the man just waited for his answer with wide hazel eyes. "You don't have too of course; I'm not saying that you _need_ it just..."

Stiles smiled and tugged the man into the living room. "All good grumpy-brows," he assured, eyes lighting up at the multitude of pizza boxes littering the coffee table in the centre of the room. "I get you."

And the funny thing, he decided as they both sat down with a box between them, was that he actually did. A week ago, he'd thought that he wasn't invited to things like trainings because the leader of their pack thought he was weak and wouldn't be able to handle it. He'd believed that actual pack activities were where they drew the line with including him.

Shoving a slice of pepperoni between his lips, the teenager let his eyes drift to the currently laughing man beside him. Things were starting to make more sense, now that he had a better understanding of the creature eating with him. He could still remember, with an almost blinding clarity, the argument he'd had with his best friend little less than a week ago; about _why_ the alpha hated having him at trainings...

 _He hates appearing weak in front of you. When we train he has to try and let us win so we know how to fight better, but the last time you were there, he wouldn't go down. Maybe it's some wolf thing?_

Stiles frowned down at the perfect semi circle of teeth marks marring his once perfect slice. Maybe, maybe it _was_ a wolf thing? If he was the alpha, he certainly wouldn't want to appear weak in front of the pack member he was interested in – no because _that_ would show he wasn't able to protect said member, that he wasn't able to provide for him.

Derek wasn't inviting him because he didn't wanna embarrassing himself in front of his crush...

Snorting into the same slice he'd been staring at for the better part of five minutes, Stiles went in for another bite. _Stupid sourwolf._ The sound drew said mans attention, and hazel eyes drifted his way, a brow climbing up pale skin in curiosity.

Knowing the response would feed the man's confusion, the teenager murmured; "You're so stupid," through a mouthful of cheese.

Derek chuckled richly. "Do I even want to know what's going through your head right now?" he asked quietly, eyes roaming over the chatting group of teenagers. After checking up on his pack, he turned his attention back to the whiskey eyed boy with the same curious look as before.

"Probably not," Stiles admitted with a quick shrug, looking down at his feet for a few seconds. "Just working a few things out in my head, you know? Trying to think through some things."

A loud snort echoed from across the room, and both wolf and fox let their eyes snap to the older human.

John rolled his eyes at the look of betrayal in his son's eyes. "No existential crisis at the dinner table," he pointed out, waving a piece of pizza at him almost scoldingly. "Especially not when I brought some cheesecake for dessert, son."

Stiles couldn't help but moan at the thought, looking wistful before he snapped back into reality with an annoyed frown. "You are breaking, like, every single one of the rules I've set out about your junk food consumption," he grumbled, glaring across the room as he took a hasty bite of his dinner. "How many times have you had this kinda crap recently?"

John blinked almost innocently. "Three times now."

" _Three_ – You cheated!" Stiles exclaimed, counting in his head. "I gave you pizza _once_ , and that plus tonight should only equal two! What have you been up too?" he demanded next, hunkering down and glaring at the male.

Shifting under the look, John resettled against the arm chair with another slice. "Yeah, well, you decided to go stay with your boyfriend so don't go pointing fingers and playing the blame game mister," he warned, full police mask in place now. "I had pizza while you went out and got yourself shot!"

Stiles glared. "You really wanna have this argument now?" he asked hotly. "I couldn't stop myself from getting shot, dad."

"You could've stopped the whole hunter shit, though."

" _Dad!"_

John grumbled and looked away. "I'm pissed is all," he explained, looking between the boy on the couch and the shell shocked man beside him. "Something wrong, Hale?"

Stiles frowned and turned, catching the fleeting moment of panic on his wolf's features. "First names are a thing dad," he reprimanded half-heartedly, more concerned with whatever had the dark haired mans attention. Fully turning to face the creature, he frowned deeper when he wasn't given a moment of time or attention. "Is everything okay?"

Hazel eyes flickered his way. "He said boyfriend..."

Stiles shook the words away. "Well yeah, I know that dude; I kinda heard it and – _Oh_."

Slowly, both hazel and whiskey orbs skirted across the room, landing on the grinning owner of the house. The man looked smugly pleased about the fear flashing across their faces, and he tilted an almost empty bottle of beer in their direction mockingly. "Oh, yes," he chorused. "Daddy knows, Stiles."

"I'm so dead," Stiles whispered.

"You're grounded. There's a difference."

The teenager blinked. "How – How did you even find out?" he demanded, straightening up and leaning closer. "Hell, _I_ didn't even know until like... several hours ago?"

John grinned and looked to the now cowering teenager at his side.

Isaac was staring at his pizza box with a frightening intensity, eyes glued to the cheap cardboard and abandoned crusts. "I didn't notice he'd come home," he whined suddenly, looking up with hopeful eyes. Both fox and wolf melted at the pleading apology. "I was talking about you guys when he walked in, I didn't think he could _hear_ me!"

"Please tell me it wasn't rude," Stiles begged. "Tell me it was a polite observation."

"They were making a bet about whether or not you two were banging."

" _God damn it!"_ Stiles threw his body back onto the couch, letting it sink into the cushions. The words, coming from his father, had held a note of finality to them and just thinking about the future conversation was making his pride ache. "I hate you all."

He didn't _really_ hate them, but they didn't know that did they?

Someone cleared their throat across the room, and with a sigh everyone turned to face the younger werewolf. "Uh," Scott smiled somewhat sheepishly. "You two weren't banging though, right? 'Cause I don't wanna lose another twenty bucks."

"You bet on..." Stiles took a deep breath in, releasing it slowly. "We weren't _banging_ ," he muttered, lifting a hand to rub the bridge of his nose. There was a headache steadily growing behind his eyes, and he wasn't sure if it was stress or tension induced; but the air in the room certainly wasn't relaxed and easy.

Sneaking a look to his father, the teenager slumped back again. "Can we go to bed or something?" he asked. "I'm tired and – and generally sick of today already so I want a new start or whatever."

"It's a little past five in the evening."

"And you're a little past chubby so stop eating pizza," Stiles snarked back, lifting his head before catching the hurt look on the teen's features. "Sorry Scottie," he apologized instantly. "I'm just tired. What do you wanna do?"

Scott looked at the others in the pack, most of them staying silent through the awkward meal. They all shared a look, some nervous, others practically screaming what they wanted to say before the beautiful red head of the group spoke up. "We wanna play the question game," Lydia decided, folding her arms.

Stiles fought back a sigh, and nodded. "Kay," he allowed. "Who goes first?"

Lydia tilted her head, leaning back against her boyfriends legs. "I will," she decided, nodding once before brushing the crumbs from her hands. "Why did you let us believe it was Greenburg? It's almost like you _wanted_ your best friend to be in debt."

" _Twinkie_ debt," Scott added quietly. "That's worse."

Stiles looked to the teen, and let out another sigh, shrugging uselessly at the question. "If you thought it was Greenburg, then you clearly didn't think it was me," he explained. "Back then, that was good."

The group fell silent, thinking over the answer before they shook their head to silent beats; apparently accepting it. Almost nervously, Isaac lifted his hand, waiting to be called on like a child in a classroom.

"Uh, Isaac?" Stiles pointed to him.

Obediently, the curly headed boy dropped his hand back to his lap. "When we responded positively to foxy, why didn't you change back and reveal it all then?" he asked, looking around like he wanted to check it wasn't a waste of a question. "I wouldn't have been angry, hell, it would've been bad ass like a superhero reveal."

Stiles frowned. "Now I feel like I missed an opportunity," he muttered before continuing. "I was actually. After breakfast I was gonna suck it up and change back and show you. I was getting sick of dodging you guys, and lying..."

"But then the Collector came," Derek rumbled. "And I screwed it up by saying all that crap about you, didn't I?"

Stiles hesitated, but nodded because as he'd said; he was sick of lying. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "Yeah, it hurt so I wanted out. Needed to cool down or whatever, you know? I didn't even care if the hunter was out there waiting for me. But it wasn't just that, I mean, we all heard what the banshee said..." he smiled over at the red head. "That was unsettling; I honestly believed I was going to die on that table with a piece of bacon in my mouth – not that that's a bad way to go."

"The voices went quiet when I threw you under the oven..." Lydia whispered. "You would've died because we all just _sat_ there."

Stiles nodded in agreement, remembering how she'd choked out that the voices were growing louder the longer he sat there. He'd never felt such fear in his life. "Why did you act then?" he asked softly.

Lydia looked up, blinking wide eyes. "Because I heard... I don't... For a split second, the voices changed."

Beside the teenager, Derek leant forward and coaxed her with a small smile. "What did they changed too?" he questioned, face open and patient as the red head floundered for a few seconds.

"I don't – " Lydia shook her head harshly before spitting out; "Help me."

Stiles' head shot up.

"Was that all?" Derek pushed softly.

Lydia frowned, like she was digging through her mind, and waved one hand through the air uncertainly. "Yes, I mean, it was just a whispered _help me_ , but that wasn't _all_ , I mean they also..."

"They called you _Lyds_ ," Stiles murmured, looking up with wide and wondering eyes. "The voice said _help me Lyds,_ didn't it? _"_

Lydia's face slackened for a split second, before she was nodding wildly. "Yes! How did... How did you know that?" she inquired, her brow pulling together in confusion. "I didn't tell anyone about it. I thought I was going crazy."

"Because that's what I was thinking when you looked at me," Stiles breathed in amazement, mouth hanging open ever so slightly. "You heard _me!_ You – You saved my life. Holy shit, you saved me."

"Language."

Stiles just waved a hand in his father's direction, still amazed by what they'd learnt. "How does that even work?" he demanded, shifting forward to the very edge of his seat. "You're not meant to hear other people's thoughts or anything, only that voice saying who's going to die right? Does this mean you're, I don't know, evolving?"

The red head shrugged artfully. "I don't know," she echoed, but she looked calm. "I'm just happy I heard you. If I hadn't... You shook me out of the shock, and if you hadn't I wouldn't have hidden you. And the hunter would've seen you and he would've killed you," she announced firmly, believing what she said. "We were so shocked, thinking that you – Stiles, not foxy – were going to die; we just didn't seem to care about the man coming in and the creature on the table."

Beside him, Derek slowly nodded his head. "I hate to admit it, but she's right. When she said Stiles, I shut down," he revealed with a furrowed brow. "I didn't even think to connect the dots about the situation."

"We all panicked nephew," Peter drawled, but it was missing its usual snark. "It wasn't your fault."

Derek made a small noise back to his uncle, shoulders slumping low. "Okay," he allowed, turning to nudge the teenager beside him. "You haven't gotten out of twenty questions that easily. It's my turn, and I wanna know if one of the reasons you didn't tell us was because you didn't – because you didn't _trust_ us."

Starting back, the teenager lifted both hands in surrender. "Fuck no! Of course – "

" _Language."_

" – I trust you. I trust my pack with my life!" Stiles hurried to continue, catching and then hoping to ease the hurt in the older man's eyes. "No, none of the reasons even entertained the thought that I didn't trust you. I was an idiot, thinking that you guys wouldn't forgive me for lying to you. I thought that it would've hurt you so much you didn't want to see me... I didn't _not_ trust you guys, I just didn't want to lose you."

The room was quiet again, and he could almost feel the guilt beginning to permeate through the air. Stiles watched the expressions of his pack members, confused as to what each of them were feeling.

"You shouldn't have thought that," Scott murmured. "We shouldn't have left any question about where you belonged with us."

"Scotty, it's not your – "

" _Don't say that!_ It is our – my – fault. We shouldn't have made you feel like there was a chance you could've lost us," Scott argued, pushing to his feet and looming over the leaner teenager. "You're our pack; human or not, and we shouldn't have cut you out or made you feel like you weren't good enough to be with us!"

Stiles was shocked into silence, amazed at the passion firing up the usual meek voice of his best friend. The boy was panting like he'd run a marathon, chest heaving and eyes flashing with righteous anger. "Scott..." Stiles stared at his best friend, mouth barely closed and features slack. "You – I don't, I don't know what to say..." he murmured, settling on a nod instead as he continued to stare.

Scott continued with his harsh breathing. "Don't say anything," he decided. "I think it's about time I got around to watching _Star_ _Wars_."

* * *

Tucking his nose somewhere warm, Stiles swatted wildly at the pressure hitting his ribs. It was incessant, and there was a loud noise accompanying the hits; which frankly just pissed him off even more.

"Go away," he slurred, whacking the weight pressing against him. "Sleeping here..." The weight hit him again, and he groaned into the warmth surrounding him. "What do you want?" he moaned, giving up on fighting the attacker away and instead peeking one eye open.

His dad stared back with raised eyebrows. "I want you to get off your lazy ass and go to school."

"So demanding," Stiles murmured, blinking at the pale skin under his features. It took him a few seconds to realise his face was pressed against his boyfriends – insert question mark here – neck, and that was probably the cause of the bitterness twisting his father's lips. "Do I have too?"

John snorted, shifting away from the pile of sleeping teenagers. "Yes, you do," he grumbled, reaching out to offer a hand when his son struggled to his feet. "You've missed too much recently."

Stiles nodded, trailing after his father as the man entered the kitchen. "I guess you're right," he allowed, not wanting to push the man too far so soon after last night. "Hey, uh, dad?"

The man looked up for a few seconds, before his brewing coffee demanded his attention once again. Almost in challenge, he reached out to spoon some sugar into the black mass, eyes on the young boy with both brows raised. "Yeah?"

Stiles let him add the white powder, hoping it would _sweeten_ him up. "Don't play dumb," he scolded into the silence, frowning at the countertop before just sighing in defeat. "Just say what you wanna say – get it over and done with."

"Not liking the tense silence, huh?" John asked mockingly, leaning against the oven with one hand folded against his chest, and the other holding up his cup.

Stiles eyed the older male. "Not really..."

John just stared back, his features set before he dropped his eyes to look into his coffee. "I'm not going to tell you that I like it, so if you're hoping for that, I suggest you don't," he warned. "We've already had the awkward; _I might like guys too dad_ , talk so we're not doing that again."

Stiles winced at the reminder of _that_ family conversation.

"But son, why him?" John sighed. "Any time you've talked about Hale, it hasn't exactly been worshipping. Or wanting for that matter," he continued, pushing away from the kitchenette. "If anything, I'd say you dislike the guy."

Stiles frowned, dropping his body into one of the high chairs surrounding the counter. "No, I've never disliked him," he murmured, face scrunching up in distaste. "I don't know how to say it, dad. Even when he was throwing me around, or insulting me – he was still giving me attention, you know? So I never hated that."

"Son, that doesn't sound healthy."

Pulling a face, the dark haired teenager continued. "No dad, I mean, that was the beginning of it all? He did amazing things, you know? I guess it started off as hero worship and now... Dad, have you looked at that man? He's gorgeous," Stiles gushed, feeling his cheeks heat up a little. "And he's so sad, and I just want him to be happy..."

John opened his mouth for a few seconds, before his teeth snapped together.

"And, I know it's weird dad, but _I_ make him happy!" Stiles finished with a breathless smile. "Have you ever wanted that? For someone to just be _happy?_ "

John studied the boy before he nodded slowly. "Yes," he admitted. "Your mother."

The words made Stiles pause, and he frowned before nervously beginning to wring his hands. "It's all I want for him," he decided to mutter into the silence. "And if he wants me then I'm not going to argue while I have a chance with him. There's no chance that I'll ever manage to snag someone as amazing as him, so if I get him _now_ – and stop him from escaping, I'm thinking rope or chains – then I'm set for the future."

"He'll break ropes, so we'll try chains," John said in lieu of replying. "Stiles, you keep talking about his happiness, but I want to know how you feel."

Stiles blinked, not entirely surprised at the question. "I'm really happy dad."

John nodded in acceptance, and bent down to press a kiss to the teenager's crown. "Then I'm happy too," he decided firmly, placing the half empty cup on the counter. "Now, I have work and you have school. I woke you guys up early enough for some breakfast, and maybe you should find them something out of your wardrobe to wear?"

"Okay, dad," Stiles smiled, and gave the man a comfortable hug around his waist. "See you after school?"

"I might be a little late, but yeah, I would like to have dinner with my son," John mussed up his hair, winking as he moved towards the front door. "No tofu or spinach."

Stiles grinned as the man left the house, calling out; "Fussy eater!"

His dad was happy with him being happy as he made Derek happy? Stiles could feel the smile stick to his lips, and didn't feel that it would be dropping any time soon. His father's approval meant the world to him; and if he had said he didn't want his son dating the alpha werewolf...

Well...

Stiles would've have felt _really_ bad about going behind his back to do so.

"Daddy dearest approves does he?" Peter drawled, strolling into the room with careful and practise movements. "That must be quite the load of your chest, hmm?"

Stiles turned and offered up the same smile he'd given his father, not fazed by the beta in front of him. "It actually is," he confessed, pushing away from his chair. "I was nervous how he'd feel about everything, I mean; I was working on _something_ to say..."

"But you tend to ramble?" Peter finished for him.

"Yeah," Stiles' smile turned sheepish. "Want some breakfast? I can make pancakes or something?"

Peter nodded, but moved into the kitchen instead, pushing the younger boy out gently. "I'll do it, it won't be hard to find where everything is," he allowed, already pulling things out of the fridge. "Go see your boyfriend – he started tossing and turning when you moved away."

"He did?" Stiles looked towards the lounge. "Oh, okay, are you sure you can handle it?"

The man rolled his eyes.

"Take that as a yes," Stiles wrinkled his nose and moved back into the lounge. Most of the wolves were up and stretching out their limbs with matching looks of annoyance. He could relate to that much; sleeping on the floor usually did terrible things to ones back.

Derek though, was still out of it, his face pressed into one of the couch cushions.

"Isn't that just adorable," Stiles cooed, reaching down to tap the man's nose. "Damn, where's a camera when you need one?" he muttered next, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. "Oh look! Here's one. The convenience..." Grinning, he opened up his camera and snapped a few photos; making sure to zoom in on the drool escaping the man's lips and flooding onto the couch cushion.

A yawning Isaac wandered past him to the bathroom. "Send me a copy of that," he slurred.

"Done deal," Stiles whispered back, pocketing the phone before bending to his knees. "Hey Derek? Derek, wakey, wakey! Your uncle is making pancakes!" he gushed, taking in a breath. "And I can smell 'em already. Damn, that man must be a good cook..."

Hazel eyes lazily blinked open. "Uncle Peter's cooking?" Derek murmured sleepily. "What's the occasion?"

Stiles' smiled softened at the childlike words – he could rake his brain, but he didn't think he'd ever actually heard the man call his uncle his _uncle_. "Just another day in paradise, sunshine, wake up."

Derek's eyes locked on his, and with one tug, he pulled him down into a hug. "I don't wanna wake up," he decided, but his voice was more alert. "I'm quite comfortable, you know?"

"Don't care," Stiles quipped back. "Get up please? I have school..."

"And I have adulty things to do," Derek realised with a sigh, and his grip began to loosen. "You're right, but I'm still not letting you go. I demand payment."

"Payment?" Stiles echoed.

Derek chuckled near his ear, and warm breath ghosted along the skin of his cheek. "One kiss?" he offered, turning the body in his hands until it faced him. "Morning breath and all?"

Without offering a reply, Stiles pressed his lips against the other man's before pulling back. "Morning breath and all," he allowed, moving to his feet. "Now come on, I wanna eat some pancakes and I need to squeeze you lot into some fresh clothing." Reaching out a hand, he helped the wolf up and smiled brightly.

Derek smiled back, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the boys. "Another day in paradise, huh?"

" _Ew! They totally just kissed!"_

Stiles sighed. "Paradise is a loose term..."

* * *

 **Here we go my beauties! I hope you liked it. I'm trying to give you guys something before the... Well, heh, we still have a bad guy running around don't we lovelies?**

 **Taila xx**


	20. Skinned Alive

"Stiles."

The dark haired teenager hummed back, frowning at the shirt in his hands before looking up with a curious gleam in his eyes. The stupid shirt – he was lying, it wasn't stupid, it had dancing llamas on it – was the wrong size, but no matter how many shirts he pulled from the mammoth set of drawers, none of them were what he needed.

Isaac stood there almost shyly, hands tangled in the tight shirt covering his upper body. "This doesn't fit," he whined, shifting around like he could stretch out the material.

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles rolled his eyes, turning back to continue his fruitless search through his clothing. "Give me a minute, I'll try and find you a bigger one or something. I could've sworn I had this baggy one somewhere," he grumbled, frowning as he pulled out another button up, eyes going straight to the tag.

Isaac made a small noise behind him, and after a few gasps of struggles; a rip sounded through the room. "Shit."

Peering over his shoulder, the fox studied the shreds of blue. "Doesn't matter," Stiles promised, waving it away without thought. His eyes brightened into a molten gold when they landed on a larger shirt, one he didn't recognize, but he turned to throw it across the room. "There we go. That should fit over your stupid bulging muscles."

"They're not stupid," Isaac defended, snorting as he tugged the blue material from his torso. "They're amazing – and you're just jealous," he decided, throwing the given shirt over his shoulders. "Thanks, it fits okay."

Stiles nodded. "Good, I've gone through my shirt supply, so it's the best you're getting," he murmured, stretching towards the ceiling with a muted yawn. He wasn't sure how much sleep he'd gotten, but now filled with pancakes and warm, he found he was exhausted again. "Does anyone else need anything?"

The curly headed boy pursed his lips, blinking for a few seconds before smiling. "I don't think so," he confessed, swinging his arms back and forth like he was testing the stretch of the material. "I know your beloved bat-woman stole one of your marvel shirts, and she's just tying it to fit better and throwing it over a pair of jeans. Everyone else has successfully squeezed into your ridiculously small clothing."

"Derek? Peter?"

Isaac lifted a brow, chuckling as he moved to sit down on the bed and squeeze into his shoes again. "Actually considering that you stole his shirt, Derek might need another one," he pointed out, eyeing the larger shirt covering the slim torso. "But good luck trying to find him something. His muscles are bigger than mine."

Stiles adopted a sly smile. "Oh, I _know_ ," he purred. "I bet they feel better too."

"Dude, no, _stop_ ," Isaac groaned, childishly covering his ears. "It's like – It's like hearing mum and dad talk about their sex life," he tried to compare, pulling a face as he did so, no doubt haunted by the mental image the comparison brought up. "It's wrong."

Stiles chuckled, moving across the room to throw on a darkly coloured jacket. Surprisingly he wasn't dressed in his usual blinding and mismatched colours, and for once in his life, his outfit could've been considered fashionable. Between not trying to faint from the shock, and not trying to preen from the sudden boost of confidence; he noted it was probably only because he'd stolen his boyfriend's – oh yes, he said boyfriend – clothing.

"I don't think sourwolf will appreciate being called a mother. His masculinity is something to be feared," Stiles commented idly, winking at the curly headed teenager reclining on his bed. " _Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack."_

The young creature rolled his eyes at the pop culture reference, pushing to his feet before lumbering from the room with; "Shut up, you weirdo," called over his shoulder.

The shoulder that was clothed by Stiles' hard work.

Honestly that boy appreciated _nothing_.

Grinning, the dark haired teenager moved to throw his body onto the bed, yawning into one hand as he bounced on the mattress. The morning had been more or less similar to a stand up show – with the clueless jokes and roar of laughter in response – and while it had been energising then; now that it was quiet, all the fight drained out of him.

The last twenty four hours, hell, the last week and a half was starting a toll on not only his mind, but his body as well. If you spent every waking – and sleeping – second expecting a knife to dig into the skin of your back, you became more than a little paranoid. You also got really tense muscles in your neck and shoulders, and _man_ did that suck when they started to ache.

See? Mind _and_ body. Paranoia _and_ cramps.

Too make a suddenly too long story short; he was tired – more exhausted actually – of running and hiding. At least the feeling of knowing that his pack knew everything was similar to having a shower after being covered in mud. He felt lighter, cleaner, like people wouldn't look down on him for being a dirty, lying asshole. The edgy sense of fear wasn't lingering in his chest, curling it into a constant anxious ball, and stopping him from having even one second of rest.

Everyone knew, and while the hurt look in his packs eyes had made him feel like shit for saying nothing in the first place; after last night, the sharpness had dulled into nothing but a memory. They'd already forgiven him for his sins.

But while his pack knew, that didn't stop the hunter on his ass.

Of course, it definitely raised his chance of survival to a solid ninety percent out of a hundred; but there was still another ten percent unaccounted for. There was still that _what if_ screaming in the back of his head. What if he had damaged his chances by holding out for so long? What if he was too late to save his skin? What if he had condemned his pack simply by _breathing_ at their side?

What if. What if. What if.

Stiles shook his head harshly, the inflamed muscles in his neck protesting sharply with each movement. After letting out a groan, he turned to check the time; making sure he still had enough time to procrastinate before school started. "Fuck!" he yelped, starting back when he noticed the patience eyes watching him from the edge of the bed. "What the hell dude!"

Derek smiled lightly, his chin propped up on the rim of the bed almost childishly. "What were you thinking about?" he asked, and while he looked damn right adorable; his voice was still the same rough baritone the teenager adored. "You're getting frown lines from whatever it was, just so you know."

Automatically reaching up to smooth out the skin on his forehead, Stiles sighed. "Thanks sourwolf," he murmured, breathing out through his nose loudly. "Can't get ugly. I know you're only with me for my looks."

The dark haired man chuckled. "No, personally I can't get enough of what you smell like," Derek confessed, sitting up enough so he could hike up his elbows. His sudden weight made the mattress dip, and the other body moved towards him somewhat. "Mothballs are like cocaine to anyone; and with my over sensitive sense of smell – you're practically a walking fix."

"Did you just say I'm a drug to you?" Stiles demanded haughtily. "Since when did I walk into a _Twilight_ movie?"

Hazel eyes searched skywards for some semblance of patience. "Well, you walked into _New Moon_ when your best friend became a werewolf about a year and a half ago?" Derek pointed out, both his brows lifting to prove his words true. "I don't want to know if the last two films are gonna become a reality. I don't think you'd suit pregnancy."

Stiles snorted out a laugh, terrified but also amused by the notion. "God, that's horrifying to think about," he admitted, lolling his head back so he could stare thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Any spawn of mine would be something to lock away, or write books about."

"Write books? Maybe you are in the _Twilight_ series then?"

Both the teenager's brows shot up, and another laugh tore its way from his throat. "Wow, okay, good point. Terrifying but good," Stiles shuddered, rubbing a hand down his features. "Man, that's just gonna add to the nightmares I'm having. Thanks for the mental image you grumpy piece of – "

"Add?" Derek cut his words short with the small growl, and whiskey eyes shot to the ones slowly reddening with anger. "What do you mean by _add_ to the nightmares you're having?"

Shifting somewhat awkwardly, Stiles smacked his lips together with a loud sound. "Well, Derek old boy, I don't know if you've noticed, but there is a hunter in town that is after a werefox. I happen to be a werefox so my brain is enjoying thinking up all the different ways I could slowly and painfully die," he revealed, chuckling without humour before his face fell into a frown. "He hasn't really hurt me in them though, just taunted me and chased me."

"How many have you had?" A warm weight was settling on the bed, pressing against his side comfortingly and he leant into it gratefully. The feeling of a hand stroking through the stolen shirt on his side only made the sensation even better.

Stiles swallowed, closing his eyes and enjoying the way his eyes burnt. "Only two," he promised. "It was weird; I was wandering through the woods, and I couldn't remember why. But I was so sure it was for you guys, so I started yelling out for you. When I saw two red dots I thought you were coming, but they were scopes zeroing in on me."

He had to swallow again after that, fighting back the lump in his throat. He hadn't thought too hard about the nightmares when he was awake – it was easier to ignore them until it was safe enough to do so without breaking down.

But right now? Right not it _wasn't_ safe to do so without breaking down.

"He hit me with a tranq," Stiles murmured, grinding his teeth together somewhat. "I passed out, and then I woke up. And – and I rang you as soon as I did. I'm sorry about that, by the way, it was a little impulsive and yeah..."

The body next to his own stiffened in curiosity. "When you rang me, it wasn't because you were worried I was mad?" Derek inquired, and the hand on his side shifted up to his ribs.

"Nah, I was panicking, and you're safe."

Derek chuckled, and the breath combed through the shorter hair growing on the teenagers head. "I'm flattered, really," he drawled, but the humour was rather short lived, and his laughter died into a quiet hum. "You said you'd had two? One was the woods, what was the other? Did you seek me out after that one as well?"

Stiles blinked. "I guess I did?" he muttered, brow coming together in muted confusion. "I had a nap after our make out session yesterday. I was hoping for pleasant dreams, if you get my drift. I didn't get them. No, in the dream, I woke up tied to a chair with the bad dude, and he decided to hurt me until I changed to end it all."

" _ **Pain is a good incentive. I'm interested to see how long it takes before you just give up. Until you change just so I'll kill you and end it all."**_

The hand on his side was dead still, the light touch stopping and fading into a heated weight. "He hurt you?" Derek questioned lowly, voice rumbling through his chest and scratching out into the air around them.

"I don't really remember it," Stiles lied easily.

Derek made a short noise, the sound torn between annoyance and amusement. "Heartbeat," he pointed out.

" _Oh_ _my_ – Fine," Stiles huffed, eyes snapping open so he could glare up and over at his alpha. "I remember a blade, okay? But that's it. I remember it – I remember it hitting my side and I remember it hurting. Can we not talk about it anymore?" It all came out in a panicked rush, and whiskey orbs took on a hint of desperation. "It's still a little sore, and..."

The man studied him, before nodding slowly. "And you'd rather I didn't mention it again?" Derek finished, making another small noise, but this time one of understanding. "I won't push it."

"Better not," Stiles warned. "Or no sex for a week."

Derek slowly, ever so slowly, lifted a brow in challenge.

"How about no sex until he's legal, nephew dear?"

"Gah!" Stiles jumped rather violently at the new voice, vaulting his body away from the warmer one near his own. "Peter! You creepy little creeper wolf! What is your problem?" he demanded, hands going every which way as he tried to drive home his words. "God, who even does that?"

Peter chuckled, both his hands firmly inside his pockets. "I do that, it's in the creeperwolf job description," he explained before looking over his shoulders. "And my problem is that you aren't in the car, on your way to school. Your education is important."

"So is bonding with my sourwolf," Stiles replied shortly, poking out his tongue. The older male's eyes flashed blue in reprimand, and both his hands shot upwards in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm going. Don't get your v-neck in a twist. Do you know if anyone needs a lift to school or anything?"

Peter shrugged, somehow managing to make the action look gracefully artistic. "No clue, but you and I are the only ones with the cars so we're playing taxi. Come on."

Rolling his eyes at Derek, – _uncles am I right? –_ Stiles pushed to his feet and trailed after the man.

* * *

Stiles just stared.

He wasn't serious right?

Under the unimpressed and almost amazed look, his best friend withered with a weak smile. "You're wearing the look again," Scott murmured, gesturing to his own features with his hands. "The one that makes me feel like I just said something really stupid."

"Probably 'cause you _did_ say something really stupid," Stiles rolled his eyes. "Dude, he won't let me."

Scott blew out a sharp breath. "But come on!" he argued instantly, fixing the shirt on his upper body. "You should try for first line, I'm sure he'd let you in if he was really good – half way through the season or not. I mean, we all know you _can_ compete with us, so why not flaunt your abilities!"

"Maybe because I don't have anything impressive?" Stiles offered, lifting his own brows before his eyes shot to the field again. Someone was yelling some bullshit about cheaters and dirty hits loud enough to wake the dead. "I don't get the added agility and strength, Scotty boy. Advanced senses? Sure, I can tell you that you had more anchovies on your pizza last night than you should have but I can't race you across the country and expect to win."

Scott was breathing into his hand and scenting it when he looked up, face scrunched up in thought.

"Dude. Stop."

Instantly the boy looked sheepish, glancing up at the playing members of their lacrosse team, almost like he was making sure he hadn't been caught doing the stupid act. "Sorry," he breathed.

"If I could, I would," Stiles continued, eyeing the boy warily. "But I can't, so I'm stuck on the bench, okay?"

Scott nodded, letting out a forlorn sigh. "Okay, but why can't you try – "

" _McCall! Butt on the field. Now!"_

Both of them let their attention snap towards the field, one pair widening in worry while the other fell back into boredom. Looks like he'd be left alone on the bench again while his best friend was out and about saving the team. Again. With an apologetic look, the other boy stood and jogged to where their coach was turning a colour similar to a tomato.

Stiles let him go without concern, already settling back in for the long haul. His body was trembling slightly from the warm up and training period, but now that they'd gotten more into their tactics – it was only the main guys on the field, training their reactions and learning how and when they were meant to act. It was usually around now he got out his phone, entertaining himself with solitaire, but the sweat gathering in the small of his back made him wrinkle his nose instead.

Maybe it was shower time?

Standing – and checking to make sure the coach wasn't glaring at him – he cautiously wandered closer and closer back to the main buildings. He doubted the man would notice his absence, but if he noticed him leaving then he'd be in for suicide runs until training was over and he wasn't looking to die today.

Grinning when he got away without being caught, Stiles practically skipped towards the where the showers were, already shucking his shirt over his shoulders as he went. He wasn't _ashamed_ of his body, but being able to shower without the stares was nice. He _knew_ he had pale skin, he _knew_ there were a few more moles than the others had, and he _knew_ that the lean muscles he sported weren't as attractive as the bulging and more defined ones everyone else on the team had, okay so if everyone could stop reminding him; that would be great.

And for the record, he'd tried to pump up, at least the muscles in his arms, but after weeks of seeing nothing and struggling to lift more than sixty pounds; he'd given up.

Derek had more than enough muscle for the both of them anyway.

Switching on one of the shower heads, he checked over the locker room again before losing the clothing covering his legs. The water was closer to scalding than it was to cold, and he knew that later on people were gonna be mad when they realised the skinny bastard on the bench had used up most of the warm water, but to his muscles it was all kinds of worth it. The ache dissipated just a little under the waters attention and he sighed, tipping his head forward and feeling it soak into his shoulders.

"Damn," he muttered, rolling out his neck and rubbing it with one hand. Opening his eyes, he peeked over at the clock hanging on the wall and frowned, realising he'd been under the water for longer than he thought. " _Damn_."

He rinsed his body as quickly as he could after that, washing away any of the lingering sweat and pain on his skin before hurrying to exit the showers. One could only enjoy privacy in the locker room for so long, and he wasn't willing to push his luck and potentially ruin his day. He was having such a good one too, and his current track record showed it was the first in a while.

Sue him for savouring it.

Humming, Stiles pulled up his pants, his movements slowing as he felt something tightening in his chest. It took him a few seconds to realise what it was, and when he did, he frowned in confusion – his fox was agitated, hunkering low and spitting out threats to the empty air around him.

He was half tempted to ignore the beast, but remembered his mother reminding him that was the one thing he should never do. The fox always seemed to know when things were about to hit the fan – one way or another.

"You know, I had my list of suspects."

Every single muscle in the teenager's body tightened with the familiar haunting voice, shoulders drawing back into a prouder stance. He should've known this was coming eventually – things weren't allowed to get better without getting ten times worse. "Did you now?" Stiles replied after a few seconds, his voice a little too loud in the echoing room.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the movement. "It wasn't exactly _lengthy_ ," the hunter continued, leaning against the lockers. "But when I first compiled it, I was thinking maybe a month or two of my life was going to be spent in this shit hole of a town."

"You've been here little over a week," Stiles snorted, turning as he tugged his mate's shirt over his head. The scent of the man fell over him as he did so, and instantly the anxious knot in his stomach loosened, and his smirk took on a more genuine and cocky edge. "This fox of yours must have been disgustingly easy to find."

The hunter smiled. "Oh, the little shit was," the man admitted. "I'm almost bored with the game of cat and mouse, you know?"

Stiles' almost frantic movements slowed down, turning dangerously precise as he stared down the monster a few feet from him. "I'm sure he is as well," he drawled carefully. "The games only ever fun when both sides are equally matched. You see, when it turns out the cat has a lower than average level of intelligence, things tend to lean in the mouse's direction."

The man almost looked annoyed at the comment, but the sardonic smile painting his lips killed the sharpness. "I'm sure they would," he allowed, every word pronounced with care. "Thing is, this cat has the mouse cornered now, and it knows which fucking mouse hole it lives in with its law abiding father. So it looks like the kitty wins."

"Kitty has to catch the mouse," Stiles pointed out, refusing to acknowledge the silent threat at his father. "And the thing is; kitties work alone. Mice stay in groups. You think the itty bitty kitty can defeat a pack?"

Now, now the man was definitely angry. "This cat set out rules that some mice didn't follow," he growled, and a loud yell from the outside world smothered his anger quickly. "Listen to me; if the little mouse wants his pack to live, he's going to come to the clearing where I shot him on Friday night without his pack. And if the other mice find out – they die. If they come – they die." The feral grin from the teenager's dreams suddenly came to life on the face before him. "Is the little mouse getting the fucking picture?"

Stiles blinked. The game had turned around just when he thought he was winning. "Yes," he replied simply. "In three days the mouse is going to the clearing. And in those three days he's going to stay far away from his pack and tell them nothing. If he does – they die. How did I go on the test, mister?"

"Brilliantly," the Collector was smiling so widely it almost looked like his face would split down the middle. "I look forward to our date."

"I don't," Stiles answered immediately. "But I'm sure it'll be... a _killer_ evening."

The hunter moved forward, but seemed careful not to touch him. "Oh yes," he cooed, leaning down, but still keeping his distance. "Let's just say I know how to get under your skin, Stiles. I'll be watching you. One wrong move and I'll start with the pretty little alpha you've gone and found yourself. How does that sound?"

Stiles ground his teeth, refusing to show that Derek was anything more to him than his alpha. "It sounds absolutely splendid," he snarled, not dropping the baby blues watching his own. "Now, a group of teenage boys are about to come flooding into the room. You sure you still wanna be here asshole?"

"I thought my name was kitty?" the other man taunted, already turning to walk away. "See you Friday, my little mouse."

Stiles watched him leave, shoulders bunched up and the scent of fear and panic rolling from him in waves. Of course, with the clouded air of teenage boy surrounding him, he could barely smell it himself and – He frowned. The collecting bastard was smarter than he thought; approaching him from an angle no one would think to protect him from, and speaking to him in a room reeking of every unpleasant thing under the sun.

There was no way he would've smelt him coming, and there was also no one his pack knew the man had come.

He fucking planned it all.

"Stiles! Dude, I wondered where you disappeared too!" Scott was too loud, his hands clapping onto tensed shoulders. "Whoa man, you need a massage or something, all the muscles in your neck are tight as. You know Allison said that there's this – "

" _Scott_ ," the whiskey eyed teen interrupted the other, ignoring the look of confusion. "I need to go home. Didn't see how late it was getting, and I need to start tea before dad gets home otherwise he'll go straight to bed without eating," he explained, smiling almost sheepishly. He didn't know how he kept the expression up, but he rolled out his shoulders, pretending to cautiously poke at them. "And my neck feels fine. Stop being a worry wart."

The usual sarcasm melted the look of concern away from the other's features. "All good," Scott promised. "I've got a lift home, so I guess I'll see you tomorrow? Only two more days until the weekend!"

Stiles slowly nodded. "Only two more days until the weekend."

* * *

 _God it was burning._

 _Every inch of his body was alight, stinging and aching with the sharp pain of being sliced open and broken. He didn't know why the man was damaging him so much – if his human form was cut so was his fox – but he seemed dead set on seeing every tendon under his flesh and the white of the bones in every knuckles and ridge of skin._

" _You can end this, Stiles..."_

 _The whispering voice made him whimper, body aching as it tried to heal the damage inflicted. He'd stop repressing the urge when the pain had been too much, but the constant repair was making him weaker. Soon, he wouldn't even have the strength to heal a paper-cut._

 _Warm breath washed over his cheekbones. "Come on, all you have to do is change, and the pain stops," the hunter cooed almost affectionately, the sharp edge of his blade running over the undamaged skin of his face. "You won't feel a thing. A little injection to stop you from changing back halfway through, and then you can go be with your mother..."_

 _The mention of the deceased woman made his attention flare a little brighter. "Mum?" he whispered into the silence._

 _He was sore, feeling like every nerve was frayed and screaming – she would understand right? This was a fight he was losing, just like her sickness, and just like her he was getting tired of trying to stay strong. He was sure people would cry, but he wasn't a massive loss to anyone. They would cry and move on._

 _And he could stop the pain._

 _God, he wanted to stop the pain._

" _Yes," the man was promising next to his ear. "You'll see her again, both of you happy together. All you have to do is let go. Change into what you truly are and_ _ **let go."**_

 _Stiles let his head roll back, limply lolling about on his shoulders. "Shackles," he croaked out, tugging at his arms. If he changed with his arms tied behind him like that, he'd rip his legs out of their sockets. Animals weren't meant to have their arms pressed against their spines like he could. "Can't change... when... tied..."_

 _If the hunter thought he had an ulterior motive, he didn't show it, instead hurrying to untie the heavy weights around his wrists and ankles. Stiles slumped over without the support, hitting the concrete with a harsh crack and muted yell. His muscles were screaming even louder now, angered by the change of position while he only felt giddy._

 _He could change now._

 _Lowering his head, he focused on letting the smaller soul out, his body shifting and cracking as bones reformed and fur ripped its way out of pores. The change was excruciating, and he screamed as barely healed wounds were torn open again, blood beginning to flow down his newly formed coat._

 _When it was over, all he could so was fall forward with a whimper, snout pressed into the concrete._ _ **Happy now? I helped you, you help me. Kill me.**_ _He looked up with a pleading expression, and the man beamed down at him._

" _Well done," he praised, bending to scratch under his chin. "Now for your reward."_

 _The man turned and fetched a small syringe, the liquid inside coloured strangely. With a quick stab of pain, he felt the burning reach out through his veins and with an almost panicked start; he realised he could feel the grasp on his humanity fading at the edges._

" _And now you can't change back," the man purred, bending down to pick up the limp body. The fox let himself be carried across the room, almost grateful for the small show of kindness that cracked through the barrier of agony, even if it was only for a few seconds. The man gently placed him down on a plastic sheet, but he was higher now, maybe on a table._

 _The sound of metal made his eyes lazily open._

" _And now I'm almost sorry for this," the hunter was frowning, running the tip of his finger of the sharp edge of the blade. "But, it's almost easier – and by that I mean it much more entertaining – to remove the skin when you're still warm."_

 _Stiles felt his blood leave his face at the implication behind the words._ _ **You bastard! You promised!**_ _His mind was howling with fear, and with a horrifying realisation; he found his body wasn't moving when he commanded it too. Why wasn't he running?_

" _So I need you to sit still for me, okay?" the hunter grinned, and lowered the blade to the skin behind his ears. To the spot where a certain beta had scratched skilfully, before the sharp tip travelled down the same spine a warm and loving hand had stroked "Not that you could move though. Don't you just love paralysing agents? Now Stiles; stay still or this could get messy."_

 _Stiles couldn't move. He couldn't run. He could only scream in his mind when he felt the first cut._

 _And the second._

 _And the third._

 _But he passed out when fingers began to peel skin away from flesh._

 _And for that; he was thankful._

* * *

 **Whoo hoo! That was dark and so very fun to write. Oh, I told you bitched the bad man was still watching from the side lines and now he's back on the field.**

 **Oh, lacrosse reference.**

 **Taila xx**


	21. Promise

_This just might be the worst day of my life._

Stiles grunted as his hip collided with the edge of the sink, a bruise threatening to bloom almost instantly as pain echoed under the skin. He healed it without a second thought, forgetting the dull agony as he shoved his toothbrush in his mouth with an almost violent movement and started running it over his teeth and eliminating the horrible taste lingering.

And then he bit his tongue.

"Damn it!" he hissed, spitting out the mouthful of foamy white paste. The pure colour was tinted red and he groaned, licking his lips and wincing at the sharp pain running through the muscle. "My fucking luck..."

Throwing the toothbrush to the side – _dirty traitor_ – he gave up and scooped his hands under the running water, watching as the liquid gathered in the hollow his palms created. When it was overflowing, the water disappearing between the cracks in his fingers, he brought it to his lips and rinsed out his mouth, cleaning the wound before rubbing it against his teeth. It wasn't too bad, and with another absent minded grunt, he healed the injury.

He had a feeling it wouldn't be the last he was forced to get rid of the easy way today, anyway.

Leaving the bathroom behind him, he sprinted back down the hallway and towards his bedroom, throwing his failure of an alarm clock a glare. How had the damned thing managed to _not_ start blaring at the ass crack of dawn like it did every day? Why, on _today of all days_ did it decide to play the role of a martyr and spare him? If this had happened yesterday, he probably would've smiled and rolled over despite the dangerously high number on the clock, but today? Today, all he wanted to do was scream out in frustration and smash his head against the wall.

Because today he had a certain prick for first period.

Stiles moaned again as he hesitated for a few seconds in the centre of his room, eyes roaming over the expanse of empty space. He was still shirtless, his hip no longer a bright shade of purple and blue, and he was tempted to throw on the familiar shirt he'd stolen from his boyfriend yesterday. The smell alone would've been enough to make the day a little better, but the stupid thing was in the wash since he'd been dumb enough to spill some sauce on it yesterday. It wasn't his best moment, but he knew that if said boyfriend saw the stain, he wouldn't be his _boyfriend_ anymore.

So the wash it was for the shirt, and a plaid monstrosity it was for him. Not that he was complaining; personally, he thought the red and black pattern was striking and made him look the part of _red riding hood_ , but he knew it would only be a matter of time before _someone_ complained. Mainly Lydia and her nose for disastrous fashion choices.

Oh man, she was going to be pissed when she saw him.

Stiles snorted out a small chuckle when he passed the mirror hiding in the corner of his room, eye catching the red plaid with its buttons undone and the grey shirt underneath. Yeah, it was going to be an interesting conversation in the very least. Realising he'd been staring for a few seconds too long, he hurried out of his bedroom, throwing a jacket over top as he cursed the moments paused under his breath. As late as he was, every second counted, and it was stupid for him to think that he had some time to spare.

"Okay, okay, maybe we can make it?" he murmured, throwing his body into the driver's seat of his faithful car. His thigh hit the gear stick, and invoked another pained sound from his lips, eyes squeezing closed as the pain thrummed. "Fuck me sideways."

The pain faded easily enough, and he breathed out heavily, shaking the haze away before straightening up with a swallowed groan. He could do this – he could get to school with time to spare, but only if he left _now._ Being even a second late was all the bastard Harris needed to throw his tired ass in detention, as he knew from personal experience, but he couldn't give the man that material.

He _had_ to be on time.

"Let's do this," Stiles decided, straightening up as he started the engine. "We are going to get there on time," he started, pulling away from his home and starting out on the road. "We are going to be sitting in class before the final bell rings and we are going to be as sarcastic as humanly possible..."

The promise made him all the more determined and he glared at the road as he drove, fingers drumming against the steering wheel almost rhythmically, and he was _almost_ proud of himself for carrying a beat. The pride faded fast enough though as he pulled up to the school building, and it plummeted down to his stomach when he faintly heard the ring of the school bell.

The final school bell.

He was late.

"Fuck," Stiles breathed out, slumping in his seat and resting his forehead against the steering wheel. He took his time from there on out, finding a good park and then carefully moving across the parking lot – he was hurting himself in the stupidest ways, so knowing him he was going to be run over as well – and up the stairs with a muted frown – he hated them on good days – before standing before the classroom.

Hell hath no fury like Harris when Stiles did something dickish. Honestly, the man thrived on the teenager doing stupid things and talking too loudly in class; he thrived on punishing the youth with an almost perverse enjoyment.

Knocking carefully on the door, he winced when it creaked open.

"Ah, Mister Stilinski, glad to see you've decided we're worthy of your presence," Harris droned, his hand still as he wrote neatly and precisely on the blackboard. "Actually no, I'm not glad. Disappointed is more an accurate way to describe it."

Stiles slipped through the door, shutting it behind him as he hiked up his school bag. "Trust me, I'm disappointed to see you too," he commented, voice an equally dull drone as he waited for the punishment to be dished out. "I was looking forward to a _happy_ day."

A muscle in the older man's cheek twitched. "Get to your seat Stilinski," he commanded. "And detention after school."

"Detention with you?" Stiles drawled, anger sparking as he weaved between the desks. "Colour me surprised."

"Colour me annoyed. Detention tomorrow as well," Harris bit out, always needing to have the last word. When the youth remained silent after the announcement, he turned back to the board and started dragging the chalk across the surface. "Now, as I was saying – "

"Tomorrows Friday."

Harris looked ready to kill something when he turned around, eyes flashing behind his glasses as they locked in on their target. "Yes Stilinski, it is," he muttered angrily, teeth coming out to bite his lip in a show of annoyance.

Stiles clicked his tongue. "I have plans," he declared, tapping his pen against his closed text book. "Important ones, so I'm sure you'll understand when I say I have to cancel our date. It's not that I don't wanna see you... it's just that I don't wanna see you."

The whiskey eyed boy could almost feel the classes surprise at his unusual show of assholery, but damn it, he was having the worst of all bad days and he was _not in the fucking mood_ to deal with the man's personal vendetta against him. At the front of the class, the teacher looked ready to burst, his eyes bulging slightly and his cheeks taking on a red tinge as he flushed in embarrassed anger.

"I suggest you go to the principal's office," Harris growled, his composure slipping ever so slightly as muffled chuckles echoed through the classroom. Normally people were laughing at the teenager, not the adult. "Before I cancel every last important date on your roster for the next month."

Stiles ground his teeth together, pushing to his feet with his bag in tow. "Think he'll accept; _he was hitting on me_ as to why I'm at his office in the first place?" he challenged under his breath, grinning slightly when another muscle twitched in the man's cheek. " _Oh it wasn't my fault sir; I was trying to fend off his unwelcomed advances._ "

He evacuated the classroom long before the man could even retaliate, running a hand across his eyes as the door shut with a final click. The anger burning in his chest was fading quickly, making room for regret and second hand embarrassment. There was no question about whether or not the event would be all over school by lunch time, and by acting out, he had signed his own death warrant.

And he'd thought the day couldn't get any worse...

Shouldering his bag, he started wandering down the hallway, refusing to look left or right or focus on _anything_ but the ground under his feet. It had been easy enough so far to forget what had happened yesterday in the locker room, and last night in his head, but with no distractions around him; there was nowhere else for his mind to fall. Despite his desperate need to forget, his brain was content to remember.

He didn't know _why_ his head wanted to remember the hunter on his trail, or the threat the man had made to his pack. Or even why it wanted to remember the haunting agony of having your skin torn from your flesh – but remember it did, in almost blinding clarity.

Letting out a shuddering breath, he leant against the nearest wall, not really caring that he was meant to be waiting outside a particular office with his heart in his throat. He had bigger things to worry about, like the potential threat of being _skinned alive._

That trumped _date with principal_ any day.

Stiles was gearing himself up to continue the walk of shame when his phone vibrated in his pocket, sending chills up his spine and forcing his heart to a standstill for a few frightening seconds. Frowning at his own reaction – who got scared of a text message? – he fished around until his fingers closed around the device, pulling it out with a muttered curse. "Derek?" he whispered in confusion, hesitating before opening the message with a quick flick of his thumb.

 _ **From – Sourwolf xx  
**_ _Acting up in class now are we?_

Stiles blinked in confusion, mind going back to the room he'd practically ran from as he tried to figure out how the man knew. It wasn't like there was a place for broodiness and leather jackets in a classroom and frankly he didn't even know – He cut the thought short as he closed his eyes with a sigh. Scott.

 _ **To – Sourwolf xx  
**_ _Harris is an ass. I didn't say anything he didn't deserve._

Content with the message, Stiles stayed where he was, back pressed up against the wall as he waited for his answer. Derek was a slow typer, but he didn't doubt that the man was staring at his phone, just _waiting_ for the damn thing to chime with the announcement of an incoming text. The conversation wouldn't be more than a few minutes, and he had enough time to spare some on his boyfriend.

When his cell vibrated in his hand, he almost smiled.

 _ **From – Sourwolf xx  
**_ _What's wrong?_

Stiles opened his mouth to shout that _nothing_ was wrong before he realised it was a text and the stupid beast couldn't hear him. And also, if he was ready to scream at such a simple question, maybe something _was_ wrong?

" **And if the other mice find out – they die. If they come – they die."**

Stiles flinched as the voice echoed from the walls of his skull, almost painful in their memory. Yes, something was definitely wrong, but was it something that his pack could fix? There was no doubt he was being watched right now. No doubt the man was scoping him out to ensure he stayed where he had to stay. The cat was keeping tabs on its little mouse to ensure the mouse was playing by the rules of the game.

Stiles would be fair game if he left his mouse hole now...

His fingers began to type out that yes, he was fine, and that he had to go because he had a date with the principal when something stopped him short. Derek, in all his beautiful broodiness, hadn't been angry when he'd found out he was housing a fox in his pack. If anything, the man had been happy to have him. And, he had been the one too... the one too...

The one to steal his first kiss...

Stiles closed his eyes, thumping his head back against the wall behind him. What was he doing? If he told Derek, if he told anyone, they'd be on the chopping block with him. He'd be sentencing them to die by being greedy with his own life.

His phone vibrated again.

 _ **From – Sourwolf xx  
**_ _Stiles?_

Staring down at the message made something in his chest clench, and he could almost imagine dark brows pulled tightly over hazel eyes. He could vividly picture in his head the way the alpha would be perched on the edge of his armchair, staring at his phone and telling himself that if he didn't get an answer in the next few minutes he was going to go knock some heads together.

He could picture Derek, moving on without him, because he'd lied. Again.

 _ **To – Sourwolf xx  
**_ _We need to talk. Pick me up at back gate in ten. Don't be seen, okay?_

Pushing away from the wall and looking up and down the hallway, Stiles clenched his jaw and started walking. He was going to be greedy and was going to keep the man he'd been wanting for over a year beside him. He wasn't going to hide behind the mask of _protecting them_ anymore.

Derek was his alpha and he would protect him.

His fox had known that from the start, and he'd been an idiot to think he knew any better.

Checking over his shoulder for any witnesses, he moved towards the back entrance to the school on quiet feet. He'd only disappear for the remainder of the period, and if anyone asked, he'd spin some tale about getting some bad family related news that morning and needing some time to cool down. The sympathy alone would be enough to get him out of a serious punishment and, if he threw in a few tears, he might be able to avoid punishment altogether.

 _ **From – Sourwolf xx  
**_ _I'm outside with four minutes to spare. You coming?_

Stiles nodded and hurried along, opening the door with slow movements before checking outside. There were no obvious threats – students or teachers – and no subtle ones either – bodies hidden in the trees or cameras watching from rolled up car windows – so he snuck out, eyes drifting to the road to search for a familiar dark car. He spotted it within seconds and hurried forward, all but throwing his tired body in the passenger seat with a heaving chest.

Derek watched him silently for a few seconds before he took one hand away from the steering wheel and held it out in a wordless offering. Swallowing back the rising panic – he was doing the right thing here – he took it, lacing his fingers through calloused ones.

"Thanks," Stiles murmured thickly. "For coming."

The dark haired man shrugged the gratitude away, and squeezed pale fingers between his own. "It's okay," he answered quietly, eyes flowing over the younger body in a studious once over. "Why do we need to talk Stiles?"

Blinking, the teenager recognized the worried tone in the familiar voice and frowned. There was something desperately shy echoing the baritone, and it made his stomach drop in concern of his own, heart starting to work double time. The idiot almost sounded like those girls in the chick flicks, the ones who thought their boyfriend was about to break up with them and – Stiles' eyes dropped, taking in the linked fingers for what they really were.

A hopeful plea.

Did Derek seriously think he was going to dump him or something? Did he seriously think that? Stiles almost rolled his eyes and added a mental note that said he needed to change the man's name in his phone to _stupid sourwolf xx_

Because no, he wasn't getting rid of the kisses no matter what the broodster said.

Without a second thought, Stiles leant across the gap created by the gear stick and pressed his lips against stubble covered cheeks. He let them linger for a few seconds before he moved back, sighing into the silence and tipping his head back against the headrest. "He knows who I am."

Derek stiffened and the air took on a note of anger. "The Collector?"

Stiles nodded, his head lolling on his shoulders so he could met hazel eyes. "He confronted me yesterday in the locker room, said he was almost disappointed I'd made it so easy for him," he whispered, taking in the warm colour before red slowly began to take it over. "Compared us to a game of cat and mouse."

The wolf growled lowly. "Your life is not a game!" Derek snapped, nostrils flaring as he struggled to take in the air to fuel his anger. "And if this _is_ a game like he claims, then I really hope he knows his not the cat in this version."

Chuckling mirthlessly, Stiles moved so he could rest his head against broad shoulders. Almost instantly he felt the tension there drain until the man slumped, an angled jaw pressing into his hair and a murmured prayer whispered against his skin. "He tried to compare you to a mouse too by the way," Stiles added with a small smile. "How's your pride holding up?"

A growl was his reply.

"Take that as an _it's not holding up?"_ Stiles guessed, pressing his face further into the warmth. "He said if I told you, he'd kill you."

A hand snuck around his waist, and burnt a hole through his shirt. "He knows about us?" Derek asked, and every movement of his lips tickled the air by the teenager's temple, causing him to squirm even as he shook his head. "He doesn't? Good. Then why did he say me?"

"You're my alpha?" Stiles pointed out, frowning into leather. "It was a good threat, I mean, even I wasn't involved with you, it would've unsettled me and made me want to do anything to avoid it. Alpha has to live. You understand that desperation don't you?"

Derek nodded. "Of course I do," he muttered, blowing out a sigh that once again shifted the brown locks. "I wasn't always an alpha remember genius? I understand the desperation all too well. Now, what else did he say? Did he just tell you he knew who you were and left it at that? Or are we still waiting for an ultimatum?"

Stiles closed his eyes, relishing in the _we_ that echoed between them. "No, I've already been given..." he swallowed. "Tomorrow night. I have to go to the clearing where he shot me. I have to meet him _alone_ and oh god..."

As he choked on air, the other hand that belonged to his partner snuck around to grasp his skin as well, forcing him to remain plastered to the man's side and forced him to breath in the earthly scent of fall that clung to his skin. Derek murmured unintelligible words that didn't really make a lot of sense to the teenager, but coupled with the soothing warmth of hands trailing over his back, it had the desired response. His heart slowed, and his breathing came a little easier and with all the breath in his lungs he thanked whoever was on high for giving him this man.

This _perfect_ man.

"Come on, let's go to the loft?" Derek offered, pulling back so he could stare into golden orbs. The youth wasn't sure what the man was looking for but apparently he found it, a smile tugging at his lips. "I might even have some curly fries."

The effort made Stiles smile and he pressed forward to kiss the man again, this time square on those smirking lips. "Thank you," he whispered, forcing his body back into his seat even as his lips tingled. "Thank you for everything you've done for me."

Derek blinked. "Thank you for staying," he replied softly.

The sentiment still lingering between them hovered as Derek started the car and pulled away from the curb, blending into the traffic like everybody else. The ease almost made Stiles worried, like it was too easy, but he firmly told himself that he was worrying over nothing because _he_ _was_. He was still waiting for the arrow to pierce skin, just this time the skin wasn't his own.

Stiles closed his eyes. He wasn't going to let that happen; Derek wasn't getting away from him that easy.

The ride was quiet, each of them lost in their own thoughts but tethered to reality by their hands as they remained intertwined. Every scenario was running through the whiskey eyed teens mind, and most made his throat close up and his heart beat faster as fear gripped him. But every time the thoughts went too far, the hand in his own gave a firm squeeze and he was back in the calming reality that showed promise.

As they were pulling into a familiar neighbourhood, Stiles let his head loll to the side again, eyes taking in the man beside him. There was a steely determination painting the man's expression, and a fierce protectiveness that took his breath away. Absently, he ran the pad of his thumb over smooth knuckles, sighing out at the sensation of being _safe_.

"Come on," Derek's voice cut through the safety net and the teenager shot back into awareness. "We're here."

Nodding, Stiles hesitated when he realised he had to let go of the warm hand in his own. It was probably for the best, seeing as his own palm was sweaty, but it still made his chest clench uncomfortably when cool air washed over the empty hand. "What are we going to do?" he asked lightly, already moving towards the building he'd come to recognize as a second home.

Derek answered just as his phone vibrated in his pocket. "We're going to come up with a plan, like we always do," he promised as the teenager fished out his phone again.

 _ **From – Scotty  
**_ _Dude, did you skip out? Harris is pissed as hell!_

Stiles winced at the reminder of his 'date' and he quickly typed out a reply, only slowing slightly in his steps as he did so. His boyfriend – oh, that was never going to get old – was waiting for him, eyebrow cocked and he offered a quick smile as penance. "Scott," he said as explanation, throwing the phone back in his pocket.

 _ **To – Scotty  
**_ _With Derek. Something came up. Tell you later, I promise, don't worry dude._

The reply was all he could think of, and he sent it with a small inkling of regret. He hoped the younger wolf believed him when he said he was going to tell him, but he could only make the promise and let the boy take it as he would.

But there was no more hiding – not from his family.

They were wandering into the loft when the answering text came through, and the sound was predicted by a horrific beeping from the nearby wall that caused them both to stop and stare.

"Okay, what the fuck was that?"

 **LINEBREAK**

 **It is still Monday, so any complaints are going to be ignored ;)** **I'm still on track right now, my friends, and I hate to say this but there are only a few chapters left now...**

 **But they're not going to be easy on you. I promise you that now.**

 **Taila xx**


	22. The Fray

_Don't…_

Stiles spared the full classroom a quick look, eyes scoping to ensure no one was paying the eccentric kid with the red hoodie any attention. Nearly everyone was scribbling down the numbers and notes from the board, their own gazes flickering between the pacing teacher and the notebook on the desk in front of them.

With a frown, he looked down, taking in the empty pages of his own book.

 _Fuck it. I'll wing the test,_ he decided, fixing his hold on the unused pen before glaring with all he was worth at the front of the classroom. His current enemy of the hour was still trudging along without a care, happily reminding him of the events queued up to happen that night.

The clock.

Stiles' brow furrowed ever so slightly, one hand coming up to grip at the lengthening locks covering his head. He only had five minutes. Then the bell would ring, and he would be forced to go home and sulk in the silence of his room. But the thing was, he didn't _want_ to go home. He was quite content to sit in a classroom until the day – and night – blew over and the aforementioned _events_ of the day had passed.

He wanted to ignore the potential that he wasn't going to step foot in this classroom again. He wanted to pretend that everything was okay and peachy, and that when he smiled at his dad that morning it had been genuine. He just wanted everything to go back to normal.

Feeling eyes on him, he stiffened slightly, lowering his gaze so he wasn't staring down the clock like it had done him grievous harm. It took him a few seconds to place where the intrusion was coming from, and with a mumbled curse, he looked up.

Scott didn't even bother to pretend he hadn't been watching, and only shifted when whiskey eyes landed on him. _"Dude you okay?"_ he mouthed silently, sparing the front of the class a quick glance. The teacher was still ranting, hands waving and lips moving in rapid fire action as she spat out dull facts.

Stiles waited until the boy looked to teacher before he focused all his attention on his empty notebook. _Right, the bad disease thing killed a bunch of people all to earn the title of plague._ His hand moved in useless scribbles, and he winced at the insensitive statement he'd scrawled in black pen. God, he was an asshole; through and through.

He couldn't even _look_ at the teenager he'd claimed was his best friend. He couldn't lift his head and smile, because he didn't know if the hunter was lurking, watching, waiting for him to slip up so he could take out a wolf pack with his fox prize. He didn't know and he wouldn't risk it. If this – whatever it was – went south, then he was the only one going down. He wasn't taking his pack with him.

And if the hunter thought he'd told anyone, he'd kill them all.

Collapsing somewhat, and resting his head in his hand, he subtly drew his cell phone from his pocket. Stiles knew what the plan was – had spent hours last night going over it inbetween makeout sessions – but he hated every damn inch of it.

 _ **To – Sourwolf xx  
**_ _When the hell are you spilling the beans? Ignoring Scott is making me feel like an ass :(_

With the message sent, he checked the front of the classroom and dropped the phone on his lap. He'd get an answer soon enough, so picking up his pen, he set to writing _actual_ notes that he could use for this apparent surprise test due next week.

Yeah, it's a real surprise when the teacher tells you the exact period it's happening on.

He was scrawling the dates down when the phone wiggled on his thighs, making him squirm ever so slightly because – hey, he could be as ticklish as he wanted as long as no one ever found out about the weakness. Smashing his lips together to repress a giggle, he fished up the phone and carefully read the text blaring across the screen.

 _ **From – Sourwolf xx  
**_ _You are an ass. After school, I'm planning on lessening the blow with pizza._

Stiles cocked a brow at the first part of the text, but the sense of relief that thrummed through him from the next sentence overcame any sense of bitchiness. His fingers danced across the screen as he tapped out a reply before he dumped the phone back in his pocket.

 _ **To – Sourwolf xx  
**_ _You spelt angel wrong, babe ;)_

Sparing the front of the room another look, he sighed and shut the notebook before him, mentally counting down the remaining seconds. The bell rang long before he was ready for it, but long after the voice in his head hit zero and all he could do was close his eyes. The next ten minutes were crucial, and he could almost taste the bitterness the mere thought left in his mouth.

He was going to have to blow off his best friend. Again.

Stiles pushed to his feet with the rest of the classroom, letting out a habitual groan when the teacher mentioned the word _homework_ in her ramblings. He went through the usual notions, smiling to people if they smiled – or glared – at him, and nodding to the teacher respectively as she passed before packing up his bag and getting the hell outta there.

If he was lucky, he had a few minutes while Scott distracted himself with Allison, but then he would be the target of the one track mind and –

"Stiles!"

\- And that was bad.

The aforementioned teenager continued tromping forward, easily pulling off the guise that he hadn't heard his name called. Stiles wasn't stupid enough to believe he'd be able to get away from the guy long enough to get his things from his locker, but the quicker he grabbed his textbooks, the shorter the conversation.

Yay for maths.

"Stiles man, whoa," Scott skidded to a stop beside him, leaning against the locker as he caught his breath. Whiskey eyes rolled at the drama involved; werewolves didn't tire that easily, the idiot. "Dude, I've been calling out your name for ages! Are you… are you like, ignoring me or something?" he murmured carefully, looking every bit the kicked the puppy.

Stiles practically ripped his locker open, backpack covering his chest almost comically. "I didn't hear you," he answered primly, hearing his own heartbeat skipping to reveal the lie.

"Oh," Scott slumped, his throat moving in a swallow.

Slamming his locker, Stiles spun with drastically sharp movements to stare blankly at the teenager. "Are we done? I've got to study for a history test. Black plague and all," he drawled sarcastically, and he hoped he looked as shitty as he felt. Maybe then his best friend would chalk it up to a bad nights' sleep – which he'd had – instead of actual dislike.

Scott searched his expressions for a few beats before he nodded. "Yeah," he allowed, tightening the grip he had on his backpack. "Yeah, we're done." Hiking up his bag again, he didn't meet amber eyes as he stormed away.

Stiles watched, carefully making sure that nobody approached the boy until the curly head disappeared around a corner and blended in with the crowd. Alone again, he dropped his eyes and clenched his teeth together to stop from shouting or screaming out in sheer frustration. He'd been thinking that the boy would beg or gently prod him, but not… give up.

 _We're done._

"Whatever," Stiles muttered, straightening up and glaring ahead with burnt out passion. A tired looking brunette scrambled out of the way, looking harried and almost frightened as she took in the whiskey orbs. "Can I help you?"

The girl shook her head wildly. "No?" she squeaked.

Stiles watched her hurry away before he sighed, all the fight and anger draining and pulling down his shoulders and the corners of his lips. The brunette locks jumped and bounced as she hurried, fighting to get away from the insane teenager behind her, and all he did was squeeze his eyes shut.

"I wish you could help _me."_

* * *

It was time.

He had to leave.

Stiles swallowed and carefully let out a breath, chest and lips shuddering with the painfully slow release. He'd run his body ragged, pacing the length of his room, and cleaning the whole house as though his life depended on it and the exhaustion was beginning to wear him down. It didn't help that he hadn't slept the night before, but now he was sluggishly tearing down whatever he had left.

It was like he _wanted_ to die tonight.

Resisting the urge to rip out his own hair, he moved back to his bed, carefully moving to grab his phone again. The screen was still bright from where he'd left a message read and the answer untyped, and his eyes roamed over the text again.

 _ **From – Sourwolf xx  
**_ _They know. It's all up to you now._

Stiles let out an audible groan, the urge to sob climbing up his throat every time he read over the message. It was nearing ten-thirty now, and the text had been sent hours ago, but he only moved to answer then; his fingers flying across the screen.

 _ **To – Sourwolf xx  
**_ _I trust you. Please don't be late._

Going back through his texts, he deleted any sent in the last week, acting as though things had been silent between himself and his friends. If the hunter grabbed his phone, then this was considered a line of defence, and hopefully one that worked. Stiles needed the man to believe that every rule he'd set forward had been followed or people he knew would be hurt.

He had to play everything right…

Or everything would be wrong.

Pocketing his phone, and ensuring it was safely tucked away, he pulled on his now infamous red hoodie; settling it around his frame like it belonged. He was already dressed for the cold air that danced around outside, thick jeans covering his legs and long sleeves roped around his arms, and all that was left was his trusty sneakers.

Stiles dropped his tired body on the edge of his bed, pulling his shoes on with a worn sound emerging from his throat. The worn blue sneakers had helped him get away from many a monster before, and now he was hoping they could get him away from one more.

He checked in on his father before he left, unable to stop from smiling when he caught the echoing snore sounding from the lump under the covers. The memory of the sound kept him smiling until he snuck out the back door, the click of the lock making everything scream in his ears in a sudden wash of silence.

The woods had never looked so imposing – so large and ready to swallow him whole.

"Once more into the fray," Stiles mumbled, straightening up and tugging down his shirt. The trees were tall, towering over him and casting the house into shadow as they hid him from the moonlight. "Into the last good fight I'll ever know," he continued, beginning to walk forward with an imposing air surrounding him. "Live and die on this day."

There was a fuzzy memory about where he'd been shot, just enough that he could find it again, so his steps were leaking confidence even though he felt none of it. He knew where he'd die on this day.

"Live and die on this day…"

"Poet are you?"

Stiles started, eyes slipping closed as the voice washed over him. "More easily bored," he retorted, spinning lightly on his feet and smiling across the clearing. "And you can find all kinds of books in a library."

The Collector grinned back, all shining white teeth. "Little mouse…" he murmured, beginning to step to the side, following the edge of the woods in a wide circle. "You know, I almost expected wolves to be following you – but you were stupid enough to come alone? Or…" Blue eyes narrowed in challenge, head cocking to the side. "Or desperate enough."

"If I was desperate wouldn't I have told them?" Stiles snorted.

The hunter hummed, shoving his hands in his pockets. With the lazy way he was walking, he almost looked like he was out for a midnight stroll along the hiking trail running through the woods. "If you were desperate for them to _live_ , you wouldn't have."

Stiles felt his jaw tightened, the muscle jumping under the pressure. "Wouldn't I be more desperate to keep breathing myself?" he demanded, turning as the man circled him. "Wouldn't I matter more than a pack of dogs?"

"Oh, look at you!" the man chortled loudly. "Trying to act like they don't mean something to you? It's not going to work _Stiles_ , I know who you are and I know how much your friends and family mean to you," he taunted, shaking his head like he was disappointed. "But, acting like they're not important makes me think you're nervous."

Stiles frowned. "Nervous?" he echoed.

"Nervous," the man rehashed. "You're trying to lessen my interest in them, get me to focus on something else. You think I'm still going to go out and hunt them all down, don't you?"

Shifting on his feet, the whiskey eyed teenager forced himself to breath carefully – in through the nose, out through the mouth. "You're a hunter. It's what you _do!"_ he bit out, tasting the bitterness on his tongue as the words slipped from it. "You murder people."

" _I_ murder people?" the hunter barked out, somehow looking amused but also furious. "Peter Hale. He's in your pack, is he not? How many murders is he responsible for again?"

"He killed them because they murdered his family!" Stiles shouted back, not feeling the amusement but definitely feeling the anger. "Your kind burnt his house to the ground, with his family – all the people he loved – still inside! I think I can safely justify what he did, but I'm struggling for reasoning for what _you_ did."

The hunter distanced himself after that, eyes studious as he watched anger force the teenager's chest into panting movements. Stiles couldn't help the fury that coursed through him, couldn't stop his cheeks from going red with exertion and a strange protective instinct.

Peter may not have been his _favourite_ , but he was pack. And Stiles would defend him.

"Are you fucking him?"

Stiles' head shot up, lips parted in horror. "You think – I'm – With Peter?" he stammered, and soon enough the shock forced him to almost double over in laughter. "Oh – oh my god you think I'm sleeping with him!" Whiskey eyes brightened in amusement, almost sparking in the filtered light of the moon, before they suddenly darkened in something akin to terror and the laughter stopped. "Oh god, I'm getting mental images."

Even the hunter pulled a face. "So am I…" he grumbled, eyes drifting to the side and taking on a sheen of regret. "So that was a no then?"

"That was a no," Stiles promised, wiping a bit of moisture from his eyes. "I'm not sleeping with anyone, okay? So if you have any voodoo rituals that require virgins, I'm game."

The hunter frowned, tugging up his arms until they were snug against his chest. "Then why defend him like that? Like you owe him something?" he asked, almost softly. "You were pretty passionate about it. Was it because Peter was the topic, or because it's what you see as _unlawful_ _murder_?"

 _Derek is what I see..._

"Both," Stiles grunted. "Peter is my pack. He's family. I'll defend him with my last breath and hopefully a snappy comeback," he admitted, and he didn't feel his heart jump at the lie. "But your kind had no reason to kill that family. The Hales weren't evil, they weren't murderers, they didn't rape and pillage while burning down homes and eating people's first born. They were innocent."

The blonde man let out a careful breath, brow furrowed as he thought over his answer before voicing it. "Ever get the monster under your bed, Stiles? Or the one in your closet?"

The teenager shifted in discomfort. "Yeah, I tried to share my birthday cake with him on occasion."

"That's what your pack is," the hunter rumbled, voice low and passionate. "What your _kind_ is. You're the monsters that hide in the closets and under children's beds. You sneak out only to maim and murder, and if you do then you're put down by my kind. Even if you haven't come out of hiding yet, you're still there, still a threat. Don't you understand why some of us take… precautions?"

Stiles fought not to scream at the man, instead taking the same care he had in his words. "Precautions…" he repeated slowly, crunching his hands into fists at his side. "There were human children in that house. Define the kind of threat they were."

"Humans in a pack can always accept the bite."

"That is a bullshit excuse to kill children," Stiles ground out, fighting to get the words through clenched teeth. _He's trying to get you worked up, don't fall for it. Stay calm._ "So, we just gonna talk all night or what? I thought you had plans on making me wallpaper?"

The hunter smiled for a few short seconds. "You distracted me well enough Stiles, but I still want my answer," he pointed out, referring to the conversation not but a few minutes prior. "You still think your pack is in danger – which they wouldn't be if you'd done this the way I wanted you too in the first place."

"I thought we'd established that I think you're insane bastard?"

" _Stiles! What did you do!"_

The teenager threw his hands up, fists relaxing into open palms at the sudden burst of anger. "I left a note okay!" he cried back, heaving loudly and hoping it covered any semblance of a lie in his posture and voice. "I left a note to my dad, and I wasn't sure if it… if it broke whatever rules you'd set out okay?"

"It depends," the hunter relaxed. "What does the note say?"

Stiles broke the constant eye contact they'd been holding up, finally dropping his gaze to the ground and closing his eyes, hoping it appeased the man anger. "It says that I'm sorry, but the threat was too much," he whispered. "I tried to explain why I chose to do this, to end my life to save his. He's – he's gonna blame himself, but I can't tell him anything but the truth. I can't lie to him, not anymore..."

"Stiles the martyr…" the hunter smiled serenely, turning to take in the darkened woods. "Have you questioned how I figured out it was you yet? How I knew within a few days who exactly I was looking for?"

Stiles bit his lips, shaking his head _no_.

"I bugged the apartment," the Collector chuckled, throwing his hands out to the side. "Planted a few recording devices I could access via the interest, and bam! I had the exact moment your own _alpha_ told me who you were! He said it out loud for me and everything. But I can't get over the fact you didn't tell them! How did you manage to keep it secret for so long?"

Stiles smothered the feeling of betrayal echoing through his chest. "Sheer force of will," he replied dryly. "And a dose of cowardice somewhere in there as well. How did you bug the apartment?"

The Collector grinned.

* * *

 _They lived in a dump, much like animals should._

 _He grinned as he casually wandered up the final flight of stairs, already sensing the air of frightened shock echoing from the walls. Maybe they knew he was coming? Maybe, like the dogs they were, they could sense danger?_

 _Humming under his breath, he approached the large sliding door that separated him from the pack, cocking his head. So far, the building had been dirtied and soiled by years, but the door was clean and it almost appeared to be cared for and looked after. Was the cute little alpha trying to make a home for his pups then?_

 _What a waste of time and effort._

 _Making sure to step harder, the sounds of his footfalls thundering around him, he yanked hard on the door; pulling it open. "Hello my puppies!" he taunted in a loud call, casually trotting down the steps that brought him into the main living area._

 _He was right – inside the apartment was clean… Slipping his hands into his pocket, he whistled loudly to distract any listening ears before placing the bug behind the photo of the pack together. He hesitated before passing it though, eyes flickering over the sheriff's boy as he shyly lingered in the corner of the picture._

 _Interesting._

 _He estimated where the kitchen was, followed the harsh sounds of breathing and sudden scurrying movements. He used the loud sounds to place another bug, this time by the doorframe under a lamp shade._

 _Now all he had to do was wait._

" _Hello my lovelies!"_

* * *

Stiles was shaking his head by the end of it all, mouth moving soundlessly. They hadn't accounted for this, hadn't put this into any of their equations or plans the night before.

They weren't as ready as they hoped.

"What's wrong Stiles?" the hunter mocked, head tilting to the side innocently. "Wolf got your tongue?"

Stumbling back, the teenager continued to shake his head in denial. They had been so close, so close to everything and – and damn it, they would've won this! They would've been _safe._ Stiles swallowed back his fear and readied his voice. "N-no I – Fuck. Derek!" he screeched, hurrying back. "Derek he fucking tricked us and – and he – he…" His words died away into murmurs, eyes glazing over in confusion before they dropped down. "Oh you…"

He collapsed.

"Tranquiliser darts," the hunter announced. "Meant for horses, but I think you can take it."

The dart was startlingly familiar, and with a pained whine, Stiles recognized it from his dreams. Was that what they had been? Premonitions of future events? His mind cleared in one moment of clarity with one realisation on the forefront.

He'd died in that dream.

Derek had been too late.

* * *

 **Before you say anything, yes I am aware of the disconnection between this chapter and the last. And yes it was done purposefully. Have fun trying to figure out my motives, heh!**

 **Taila xx**


	23. Deals And Meals

Their breath hit the air in small clouds of white smoke, billowing about their morphed features before dissipating. If it hadn't been for the threatening and angered snarls echoing through the clearing, Peter would've been tempted to say the late night was stunning with its cooler air and frost covered leaves.

It was something he would've painted if he was an artist, wrote about if he was a poet, composed music about if he played an instrument.

But, seeing that he could only draw stick figures, write not-so-polite letters to his nephew that he was never going to send and only took three classes of piano before he'd gotten bored – there was only one thing he could do, being the werewolf that he was.

And that? That was scowl at _everything_.

Batting at a leaf that had been spotted over with frost, Peter artfully arched a brow at his pack. "Are we going to stand around snarling all night?" he asked, injecting a tone of boredom into his drawl. "Because if we are, can I go home and get a jacket. I didn't plan ahead." Giving up the pretence of absent minded actions, he ripped the leaves away and examined them closer.

Across the clearing, he could _feel_ the glare his nephew sent him. "They've been and gone," Derek announced after a few seconds of silent reprimand. "The hunter has Stiles."

Peter snorted, hating the curling of regret in his chest – he refused to feel scolded damn it – and threw his handful of nature to the ground. Instead of a violent impact, the leaves fluttered and danced on the cool breeze before hitting the ground with nothing but a whisper of sound. He frowned down at the pile, put out by the lack of explosive excitement.

Everything was beginning to do that – to bore him with the lack of expected responses. All of his mocking was mostly ignored or – in some cases – taken like a joking taunt, instead of the edged insult they were meant to be. The humans or supernatural they encountered were boring as well, no longer acting out or having screwed up mind-sets like he wanted.

Everything was so dull now…

Then again, maybe it was because his taunts were delivered softer now… Maybe, instead of the sharper explosion he was expecting, his words floated like the leaves had. Maybe now he didn't see the supernatural's as entertainment, but instead as a threat to his pack and his family. Maybe…

Maybe he _should_ be a poet.

"Peter?"

Catching the expectant tone lingering in the simple word, he looked up, teeth revealed in a shark's smile. "Yes, dear nephew?" he inquired, and damn it, there it was; the lack of any real heat to the jibe. The words almost sounded endearing. Argh, he was disgusting.

Derek shifted in what looked like discomfort. "How did you know? About Stiles?"

The question was a long time coming, so all Peter did was dull down the defensive edges of his smile and turn to pluck away another leaf from the tree he leant against. "You wouldn't remember," he started, tugging and pulling at what was in his hands. "She was pregnant when she turned up on our doorstep, sheepish and begging for forgiveness. Claudia forgot to check for another supernatural family, and when she figured out that we owned land, she came to make sure she was allowed to settle in the town."

Movement caught his attention, and he looked up just as his nephew dropped to sit cross legged on the ground. "I guess mum wouldn't have really cared too much?" Derek assumed, tilting his head back so he could meet blue eyes.

Despite the moisture on the ground, Peter sat as well, hating the memories sparking in the back of his mind. "She wasn't," he agreed, moving so the plant life in his hand was between them both. He almost snorted aloud at that; using nothing but a leaf to protect him from his nephew was either stupid or desperate. "She practically slapped her for being so apologetic."

"How long was her visit?" Derek asked next, eyes glued to the greenery.

Peter shrugged. "Not too long, but it only took the both of us five minutes to disobey your mother and eavesdrop on the conversation," he recalled with a cheeky smile. When the younger alpha looked up in curiosity, he continued. "You were like a bloodhound and as soon as Claudia was within ten feet of the house, you were _reporting_ it to your mother like a good little guard dog."

Derek met his gaze at the words, and he half expected to be scolded for the words, but instead, the dark haired youth waved a hand in a gesture for him to continue. "You were talking with her, weren't you? In the study? I remember you being there."

Nodding, Peter abandoned the nature he'd stolen, letting it rest on the ground. "Yes, we were talking about your latest tryst in school – biting other children, tsk tsk – when you barged in, all flashing golden eyes and raised hackles. Talia was on her feet in seconds, hurrying you to me, and then us both up the stairs so she could safely answer any threat."

Hazel eyes were clouded over, Derek struggling to fight through the haze the years had put on the memory. "You asked me what was wrong," he murmured when the realisation hit him. "What did I tell you again?"

"That a woman who'd eaten a balloon was standing outside."

Derek pulled a face, looking offended at what his younger self had said. "I did not!" he argued with a pout, the glare he was shooting his uncles way softer than usual. "You're making that up."

Peter grinned, dramatically placing a hand to his heart. "I would never," he promised, leaning closer as he continued to playfully recount the day. "You looked me dead in the eye and announced that there was this pretty lady outside who had eaten a balloon. You said she was coming up to the house, and smelled weird."

"Like spiced cake," Derek muttered almost inaudibly.

Peter nodded. "Like spiced cake, which was something you hated, so on principle you hated the woman as well. Also, you were fond of balloons and quite disgusted someone would eat one when they'd _done nothing wrong_ in your eyes."

Derek finally seemed to accept his childish side, nodding in agreement with the story. After a few seconds, his hand came away to grab the grass littering the ground, a ghost of what his uncle had been doing before. "Did I ever met Stiles or his family after that?" he questioned next, head tilted curiously.

"Yes. You met his father after the fire, I believe."

The simple announcement ruined whatever shreds of camaraderie were between them and Peter internally sighed. _You had to say that didn't you?_ Hoping to save his nephew the struggle, he began to push to his feet with a twisted attempt at an apologetic smile. "We should probably go and – "

"It wasn't actually him," Derek muttered from his spot on the grass. "It was this young constable, the type that got through school by the skin of his teeth and went to the academy just for somewhere to go, you know? I practically wrote down my statement for him, since he could barely spell my name, let alone the names of my family."

Peter slowly dropped back to the ground again.

"He must have either done it either very right or very wrong, because I was out of the station just as Laura went in…" Derek continued, brow furrowing and hands incessantly tugging at the green blades of grass. "She told me to stay at a friend's, and said she'd come get me after she was done."

Blue eyes disappeared as their owner closed his eyes. "I'm begging you now nephew, please say you didn't go to Kate's?" Peter pleaded, and for a second all he could think about was the younger version of the man before him, stumbling to the hunter's house like a lamb to the slaughter. The picture made him sick.

"I went to you."

Peter's eyes snapped open. "Pardon?"

Derek studied him for a few seconds. "You were my favourite uncle, and one of the only people still alive; of course I went to you. I was happy someone was still breathing, but sometimes I almost wish you'd died with the rest of them."

 _That hurt._

Derek continued to shamelessly stare, to watch how his words affected the man across from him. "You changed," he announced dryly, "And I'd honestly rather have your memory then the new ones you keep trying to make now. I would prefer to remember you as my uncle, then as the man who lives with me and wears his face."

Peter only stared, mouth open, as snarls continued to rip through the air around him. The pack was still entranced with the panic ridden scent of their vulpine member, paying almost no attention to the conversing pair on the ground nearby. In the back of his mind, a voice noted that his nephew wouldn't have said this with an audience, so he was safe from any eavesdroppers, but the point was; his nephew was saying it.

"I spent six years in a coma, reliving my sister's death, and hearing the screams of my family…" Peter pointed out in a low voice. "Did you honestly expect me to come out with the same smile and view of the world?"

Derek shrugged. "I hoped," he revealed. "Then you started murdering people, and I realised it was a stupid hope."

"So you murdered me right back?"

"Don't spin this around," Derek grunted out, looking uncomfortably open. "I tried to get rid of the monster who sounded and looked like my uncle, and I was _happy_ with the memory of you. Happy with the lingering remembrances of when you'd take me out to play or spoilt me rotten. I was happy, and then you went and brought yourself back."

Peter blinked, understanding flitting through his mind. "You wish I hadn't, don't you?"

All Derek did was nod.

"I'll make you a deal then," Peter suddenly decided, hurrying to say the words on the tip of his tongue before his mind could catch up. "If you forgive yourself for falling into Kate's trap, for telling her what she needed – I'll forgive myself for not being able to save our family."

Taken aback, once again, all his nephew could do was nod.

Peter smiled, but already the vindictive edge was lacking. "Brilliant," he purred, reaching out to shake the male's hand and consummate the deal. "Good talk nephew, but I think it's about time for us to head out? You wouldn't want to be late."

Derek pushed to his feet, and held out a hand to the man still on the ground. "Good idea," he allowed. "Come on, Uncle Peter."

* * *

" _He was obviously feeling threatened!"_

 _The argument was apparently running dry, and his alpha sister only snorted and rolled her eyes before going back to the papers on the desk before her. "Peter, he's still grounded. End of story."_

 _Slumping into the loveseat, Peter childishly glared over at his sister, seriously beginning to doubt her mothering abilities. "But if he's grounded, he can't leave the house," he pointed out slowly, leaning back so he could stare up at the ceiling. "And if he can't leave the house then the tickets for the racetrack I got for us are useless."_

 _Talia sighed, the sound guilt laced and echoing from the walls. "He needs to learn," she muttered. "Derek bit another one of his peers, we can't let him continue with the behaviour!"_

 _Looking down, Peter pushed out his lips. "Please? He can learn_ _ **after**_ _I take him to see the races! And come on, yeah he bit someone again, but he didn't even change when he did it! You've got to hand it to him for that!"_

 _Talia stared for all of three seconds before giving in with a short nod. "You're a manipulative little shit, you know?" she murmured, going back to the bills littering the surface of her work desk. "And you didn't get that from our parents, so who the hell was your role model?"_

 _Peter only grinned._

 _Any retort he'd been planning on was cut short by the study door being flung open, the brass doorknob colliding with the wall behind it. His little nephew stumbled into the room, eyes glowing a frightful shade of gold. "Mum! Mum there's someone outside!"_

 _Peter threw his body back onto its feet, already reaching out for the younger boy with open arms. Before he could even touch the boy though, his sister had thrown his body into the awaiting arms, and the older male almost fell under the sudden weight. "Peter, go upstairs, and don't come down until I tell you okay?"_

 _Talia was gone before he'd even processed the command, but one look at his nephew had him scrambling to obey. The dark haired child was frightful about something, his eyes still glowing, and hands clawed and absently he ran a hand over his spine to calm him down. "You doing okay there?"_

 _Derek nodded and tucked himself away as the older male climbed the stairs. "There's someone out there…" he growled out, and only stopped snarling when the hand moved from stroking his back to combing through his hair._

 _Peter faltered. "Who?"_

" _A woman," the child revealed. "A woman who's swallowed a balloon."_

 _Peter's hurried movements stopped, and his hand stilled in dark locks. He'd been panicking, ready to lock himself in the bathroom, because there was someone outside who had swallowed a balloon? The fuck was this…_

 _Shifting the boy in his arms, he travelled to his bedroom and looked out onto the front lawn, taking in their guest. "Derek. She's pregnant."_

" _I don't care if she's a pregnant or a Capricorn," Derek decided with childish logic. "She swallowed a balloon, one that probably did nothing to her and she smells like spiced fruit cake. That crap tastes funny."_

" _Language," Peter scolded without realising. "Spiced fruit cake huh?"_

 _Derek nodded determinedly._

 _Peter nodded as well, pursing his lips as he juggled the weight in his arms. "Spiced fruit cake is pretty dangerous," he allowed, breathing out a quick sigh as his sister and the woman moved into the house. "Actually, it's really dangerous… Probably should stay up here like your mum told us too huh?"_

 _Large hazel eyes blinked up at him. "You wanna listen in from the window or the door?" Derek asked._

* * *

As his head lolled around, balancing dizzily on his shoulders; all he could really gather through the exhaustion was that his entire being was hurting. And it wasn't the familiar ache caused by his coach pushing him too far on the field, or even by the rough play of his wolfish friends, but something that ran through his bones, and echoed about his muscles like cramps.

The last thought made him pause, horror latching onto his confusion. He – oh god, he wasn't PMS'ing was he?

No, no wait, something wasn't right with that assumption, he was sure. Stiles pulled a face, lips twisting in confusion as he struggled to comprehend why the mere thought probably wasn't the product of a _sane_ mind.

The main reason had to be the little thing – he didn't say little, his sarcasm over compensated for _nothing –_ he had between his legs, something he was almost a hundred percent certain woman didn't have, and also the distinct lack of anything protruding from his chest. The two previous points lead him to the belief he was male, rightly so, and that meant he was safe right? Men couldn't…

Yeah, he was ninety-nine percent certain you had to be a chick.

And, while there was still that point _one_ percent, the knowledge was more than enough reason for him to realise that this was all in his head and he'd probably forgotten his medication that morning. Fucking great.

As he shifted his hands, the movement causing pain to shoot up his arms, he realised that while the stupidity in his head was cause for concern; he clearly hadn't made the misassumption that he was in pain. So, if it wasn't his time of the month – which was a shame, because he was still looking for a reason as to why he cried while watching _finding nemo_ the other day – then he couldn't pin the blame on his own body.

Which left the question as to _why_ he was in agony…

"Stiles? You're finally awake!" A door across the room creaked open, light flooding in and surrounding the towering figure standing in the archway. "You know, I almost thought I comatosed you with that dose."

Whiskey eyes widened in recognition, an answer fluttering behind the molten irises. That was right. He wasn't experiencing cramps no, he was sore because he'd been tranquilized and left to rot in what looked like a dungeon. He was sore because some insane bastard wanted to _skin him and hang him on a wall_.

He'd rather be bleeding for other reasons, not from a lack of skin covering lithe muscles.

"I kind of wished you had," Stiles muttered, not loud enough for the hunter to actually hear him. The man must have seen his lips moving though, because he shifted closer and tilted his head curiously. Golden orbs rolled in annoyance at the silent question. "I said; it takes more than that to get me to shut up."

The hunter grinned. "I never wanted you to shut up," he revealed, shutting the door behind him.

With the click of a lock, the room plunged into darkness, and Stiles felt his heart shudder in time with the shadows withering on the walls. There was no source of light, no flicker creeping through the cracks of the door, and he couldn't help but panic when he lost his sight; unable to make out the moving shape of his hunter. As of three seconds ago, his eyes had been his only useful sense – nose unable to pick up anything beyond the nauseating scent of mildew, and his ears only catching the almost rhythmic dripping from a broken pipe – and it was all he had.

It was all he had damn it, and the bastard was _taking_ it from him!

He'd barely had time to sort through his panicking thoughts before the light flooded around him again, his only sense returning with the mere flick of a switch. Instantly, he tried to school his features into something harder and less caring; refusing to show the man his previous weakness.

"Your rambling's rather amusing actually," the hunter continued, unaware of the relief flashing across his victims features. He _had_ moved, now slinking around on the outskirts of the room like a predator hunting its prey. "I could listen to you all day."

"Oh?" Stiles offered breathily, chest jerking in quick gulps. "You'd be the only one to think so…"

The hunter lifted his blonde brows, head cocking to the side again. "My goodness, really?" he mocked in feigned surprise. "And who could possibly find _you_ annoying? Stiles Stilinski? The fox with an attention disorder."

"Oh ha ha, I forgot how to laugh," Stiles grumbled, the panic dulling around the edges with the lacklustre banter. It still sat in his chest, – cough, about to be skinned alive, cough – hungry and patient for the next time it could grip him, but it didn't overtake the logic thrumming in his mind, and that was all he needed to make it out of this alive.

And he _would_ make it out alive.

Hell, they'd already broken the pattern of his dreams anyway right? He couldn't remember the exact scenes that his mind had dredged up, but he was almost certain they'd gone away from the script already. They were adlibbing, so to speak.

And speaking of speaking, the man across from him was speaking.

"Don't laugh," the man demanded softly, like a parent scolding his child for believing a lie. "Believe it or not but it _is_ almost comforting, I suppose, hearing you ramble on. There's no point to anything you say, so I don't feel obligated to listen or reply, but the mindless babble is like having music in the background."

Stiles somehow managed to feel offended through the fear swirling in his chest, lips twisting in distaste. "No point? Rude" he echoed, snorting. "But we all have our strange eccentricities I suppose. I like to cry during kid films, and you like it when your Sunday roast talks back."

The hunter chuckles, the sound warm and the wrong side of soothing. "Sunday roast? I'm not going to eat you Stiles," he promised, and his looming figure disappeared, moving in the shadows behind the teen.

Stiles craned his neck, but alas, he couldn't pivot it like an owl. "No, you just want to skin me."

Silver danced in the light, and by habit, whiskey eyes sought out the colour. The polished metal of the knife gleamed and shifted as the hand wrapped around the hilt brought it closer to his features. "Exactly," the man purred. "Think of it as so; would you begrudge a man with a bear skin rug?"

"Yes."

" – Or perhaps a woman with a fox hide coat?" the hunter continued, pretending _not_ to hear the answer he'd fished around for. "If you weren't what you are, living in his world; you'd walk into my study back home and no doubt be in awe of my collection."

Stiles pulled a face. "You'd show a random teenager your collection of dead supernatural beings?" he questioned, mentally trying to picture the horror such a sight would bring. The mere thought made his spine shudder and his features contort further into disgust. "Dude, Spock, where is the logic?"

Somehow, the baby blue eyes glued to his appeared angered but also amused. "The logic is sound Stiles; I like to collect trophies, so I do. I want them, so I take them," he murmured, studying the blade in his hands. "And yes, I do believe had this been under other circumstances, I _would_ show you my collection." A grin fell into place, charmingly horrifying as the man lifted both brows. "That's how it works right? Impress the man, then bed the man."

Stiles honestly couldn't hide the disgust, and honestly didn't _bother_. "Fuck, that's not only disturbing – and illegal might I just add – but so bloody cliché," he spat out. " _Another time, another place and we'll bang okay?"_

"I can't say I've seen such a horror movie, or heard of such a cliché."

"Then your taste in movies must _suck_."

"Stiles." And oh goody, the tip of the knife was dangerously close to one of his eyes. "This isn't how it's going to work. I'm not going to release you on the whim I could sleep with you, or on the hopeful belief that _maybe_ keeping you alive would honour my pride as a better trophy. I'm not going to be battered about by some pretty words, or even torn apart by harsher ones. The truth won't hurt me so don't try and pull the _you don't have to this_ shit _,_ because I think you'll find I do. You are going to die tonight Stiles, and there's nothing you could conjure up that's going to stop that – are we clear?"

Stiles nodded, and any reply he could've made dried up in his throat at the passion lacing the last few words. The hunter – the Collector – wanted him, and had already pushed aside his morals to do so. The man believed that tonight his collection would gain the pelt of a fox; and his certainty made Stiles faltered.

 _You are going to die tonight._

"Real shame you won't release me on a whim," Stile muttered after a few seconds, no longer interested in the blade by his eyes. "'Cause now I'm gonna die a virgin, and all my dead friends will mock me in the afterlife."

The hunter pushed back on his heels, studying the boy tied and bounded before him before he chuckled. "All your dead friends?" he parroted, pursing his lips like he was thinking over the idea. "Sounds like a plan – and oh, there's no afterlife sweetheart. Once I finally let you pass on, you'll travel into nothing; no light, no arms of your dead mother. Just black."

The larger man turned away, apparently going back to his collection of knives – this man was all about collecting things, huh? – but all the teen could focus on was one thing…

 _Dead mother…_

"That's why it has to be me, isn't it?" Stiles whispered, brow coming together in realisation. Absently, he started twisting and turning his wrists, hoping to take apart the delicate rope tied knot holding him in place. "Because my mother outsmarted you."

The man spun, fury etched into the usually calm edges of his lips. "She didn't _outsmart_ us," he spat out, nostrils flaring in an obvious show of his anger before he managed to rein it in. "Your mother was an animal, and like any domesticated bitch, she had a handler. I don't know who helped her, but I'll find them after I'm done with you and your stupid pack."

"Going back on your word now, huh?" Stiles taunted, sighing out in disappointment. "Here I was thinking you had honour, but maybe not."

"What did I say Stiles?" the man murmured, continuing to putter around. "You're not going to trick me into anything by playing me. You're smart, but as I said, I don't listen to what you say, merely to the sound of your voice."

Stiles nodded in feigned understanding. "To the cluck of the roast."

The instruments cluttered back to the table, and broad shoulders lifted in calming breaths. No matter what the man had said, his words were clearly having effect on him – and while it wasn't the most desirable response, anger was still something he could twist around to give himself more time to win this. Anything was better than that damned calm certainty, anyhow.

"Problem?" Stiles inquired, cocking his head and grinning when the man's breathing stopped in the wake of his voice. "What happened to the confident little decree that nothing I say will affect you? Don't tell me I'm _already_ under your skin? Even Jackson lasted longer than that."

"I was going to knock you out…"

Stiles craned his head, pushing one of his ears towards the male. If his hands had been freed, he would've cupped one around his ear as he let out the mocking; " _Huh?"_

The hunter turned and pinned him with a strong and unwavering glare. "I wasn't going to make you feel the agony," he continued, stalking forward with practised movements. "But now? Now I think some pain is what you need to learn your place. Tell me Stiles, have you ever had you skin removed before?"

* * *

 **Don't ask where the bonding between Peter and Derek came from, because it came and now it's staying in the chapter because it makes me happy as hell.**

 **Hope you enjoy this – sorry that it's late. Yes I have my reasons, but don't worry about them, just enjoy the chapter :)**

 **Taila xx**


	24. You're Late Asshole

_All I want for Christmas, is my two front teeth –_

 _\- back._

Stiles ran his tongue over his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and ridding it of the crimson blood that was spilling over to drip onto his chest. Despite his internal monologue breaking into song, he _hadn't_ actually lost any of his teeth; the pearly whites stained red but thankfully still in place and solid under his annoyed grinding. Admittedly with the amount of blood he'd been spitting out a few minutes prior, he'd thought the opposite, but after checking – and then double and triple checking – he was sure enough that he could still smile.

Well smile without, you know, looking like he'd been punched in the face multiple times.

Yeah.

Flexing his fingers, Stiles looked up, listening as the man across the room hummed under his breath. "So, getting ready to carve up the chicken for dinner huh?" he commented, wincing when his voice rasped across the empty room; worse than nails raking down a chalkboard.

The man hesitated in his movements at the sound of his voice, apparently shocked that his captive was speaking so soon, and with such heavy sarcasm as well. For the sake of his pride, Stiles hoped the man hadn't actually thought a few hours of torture would hold back his tongue; he was a lot more stubborn than that, fuck you very much.

"It's easiest if the blades are sharp," the hunter murmured softly, more concerned with the metal in his hands than the teenager tied to a chair across the room. "Less work, and it gives me a much cleaner cut."

Stiles nodded, pretending to understand the reasoning. "I guess I get that," he allowed, trying to put the thought into practise. It was easier to cut up whatever meat he was cooking for dinner if the knife was decently sharp. "Are any of them ribbed? Or do you need a smooth blade to get a better _cut_ or whatever you wanna call it."

"Smooth."

Again, Stiles just nodded, making a sound of agreement in his throat before looking down to his lap with a small frown. There was blood specking his jeans and he almost snorted in annoyance, a voice in the back of his mind noting that they were one of his best pairs – and now they were ruined. This was why he couldn't have nice things; like expensive jeans and boyfriends.

 _But I have Derek…_

"Hey, uh," Stiles licked his lips again, wincing at the coppery taste of his own blood. "Were you fucking around before? When you said you were going to go after my pack?"

The hunter spared him a short look, blue eyes flashing in impatience. "I never said that," he replied curtly.

Stiles offered up a mirthless laugh, the sound bubbling out of his throat and causing blood to drip down his chin. "Well, you kinda hinted rather heavily at it dude," he pointed out, the laughter dying away into silence. "You won't actually go after them will you? I mean, they didn't even know who I was until a few days ago. This wasn't their fault."

The hunter made a low noise in the back of his throat, irritated at his captive for pushing but too lazy to threaten the boy to shut him up. Real pity, that. If he'd flashed one of the knives in his hands, maybe growled a little; Stiles probably wouldn't have mentioned it again.

And by again, he meant at _least_ for the next seven to eight minutes.

"You're right," the blonde man admitted, shoulders lifting in an absent minded shrug. "But they had a _few days_ to tell me the newly acquired information. And they didn't. That is their fault, and I intend to collect."

Stiles grunted. "What is it with you and collecting…" he murmured, before speaking up to try and help his broken voice carry across the room. "So what are you gonna do then? Kill Peter, then brag to all your friends that you killed the guy who managed to bring himself back from the dead last time someone decided to take a knife to his back?"

"Yes."

Clicking his tongue, Stiles nodded with exaggerated movements. "Oh, I'm sure that'll work. I mean, he can't pull the same trick twice, am I right?" he mocked.

The hunter made no sign that he'd caught the sarcasm, lifting a blade to the light so he could study its edge with a keen eye. "I don't expect him to be able too," he muttered, now moving to run the tip of his finger along the blade. It came away stained red. "It's hard to give your body life again, when you don't have _all_ of said body."

"Oh," Stiles blinked, leaning back in his chair, sarcasm drained. "I uh, I didn't think of that."

The man snorted, going back to his work. "Clearly."

Giving the man a hard look was wasted, but Stiles still felt a little better after doing so, whiskey eyes burning a hole in the back of his broad shoulders. The hunter was somehow _still_ sharpening his surgical tools and blades, drawing out the task until every grind of the knives against steel made him shudder, ice dripping down his spine.

The bastard was clearly doing it all on purpose; putting on a show with every scrape of the sharpening rock against the steel. The larger arms would flex with each movement and the teenagers mind flashed back to when the man would flirt, teeth glinting in the light, before he physically recoiled from the memory with a sneer.

Derek's arms were so much better anyway.

They may not have been as big, but because Derek wasn't so _chunky_ , the definition shown was more drool-worthy than bigger muscles. When his arms flexed, the muscles would dance under his tanned skin and ripple like a bed of water disturbed by a pebble. When he breathed in, the lines on his chest and stomach would flutter, and with every step the muscles in his thighs would test the limits of his tight jeans.

Speaking of tight pants…

Stiles wiggled slightly, trying to get comfortable again without making the movements obvious. He wasn't being watched, the hunter in his own world of sharp blades and bear skin rugs, but he was still cautious – too much moving and the man might think he was trying to wind his way out of the rope binding his wrists and ankles. And if the man thought he was trying to escape then he'd bring out the smaller dagger he'd been favouring all night, or maybe even the solid iron rod turned red from the blowtorch hiding on the desk.

The memory of the heated poker made his lower lip tremble ever so slightly, shoulders flexing at the ghost of pain flickering against his skin. The burns had healed ages ago, but it was almost like he could still feel the iron pressing against every mole on his back.

"Hey, uh," Stiles rolled out the tension in his shoulders. "Bathroom break?"

"No."

"Wha – Dude?" Stiles started back, surprised at the blunt answer. "I either pee on a porcelain throne or on this wooden, and frankly uncomfortable throne I've got right here. It doesn't bother me too much, I can just think of it as marking my territory, but something tells me you don't want the stink of urine plugging up your nose when you're trying to work?"

The man turned, studying him for a few seconds before huffing out a short laugh. "No, you won't," he announced, looking the tied up teen up and down with another smirk. "You don't need to go toilet."

"Maybe I do," Stiles snorted.

"But you don't."

"I could."

"But you don't."

"Like you would know how my bladder works," Stiles grumbled, deflating in as the man went back to his work yet again. "When I'm forced to sit in a puddle of my own piss – I'll become horrible company, I'm warning you now."

The man hummed back, grating the current blade needing work across the sharpening rock; already losing interest in the conversation the longer it was drawn out. The teenager behind him let out a sound of indignation, but didn't bother to try and get his attention again, now knowing better than to waste his breath.

 _Man, he'll suck as a father. Never giving his child the light of day. What a prick._

With a put out scowl, Stiles glared for a few more seconds before giving the rest of the room his attention. It was clearly underground, and now that there was light, he could make out a small window across the room; green growth threading through holes in the rotting wood and allowing vines to climb down the wall. As soon as he'd seen the plant life he'd known where he was…

The cabin in the woods.

Snorting out his amusement, the dark haired youth shook his head and tore his eyes away from the vines growing through the ages mortar. The rest of the room was plain, with a heavy set door separating them from what was either the rest of the basement or the staircase that would take them back above ground. There was the odd knickknack hanging from the walls, an axe – even a scythe – and putter cluttering up some of the ground, but nothing there to spark recognition and anything even _worth_ a second look was quickly dismissed as dull by his overactive brain.

Where the hell were they? It had to have been more than ten hours now right? The plan had been ten hours – no more, no less. And now here he was; bored and feeling the beginning of a want to pee.

Stiles slowly looked back to the man, a small grin flashing across his lips. "Hey, buddy, you wouldn't happen to have the time would you?" he asked innocently, absent mindedly rotating his hips in an attempt to ease the pain lingering in his swollen joints. "You snatched me up last night, but how long has it been since then?"

Blue eyes could be seen through the shadows. "Interested to know if your father would've found your note by now?" the hunter guessed, gently placing one of his knives to the side.

"Just tell me the time, man."

Dropping the rock – sharpy rock? The rock of sharpening? – the hunter spun, both his eyebrows cocked up. "It's a little after four in the morning. Saturday," he admitted, juggling the blade in his other hand. "We're in the weekend now, so I hope you don't have any plans," he chuckled before his eyes narrowed in sharp slits. "Why?"

Stiles shrugged, and if his hands had been freed, he would've inspected his nails for flaws. "Just noticed that my friends are a little late, is all," he answered nonchalantly, smiling easily over at the other man. "Thought that for once the little shit of an alpha would be early for something but apparently I was wrong. Actually no, he's probably here, just waiting for the ultimate time to make an entrance."

The man hesitated, blue eyes clouding over in confusion. "What?" he demanded, brow furrowing ever so slightly in the middle. It was the only sign of worry that showed on his features, but it was still a victory.

"Oh, wait, so you…" Stiles cocked his head. "Please don't tell me you _actually_ thought we didn't know about your little implants. Your little _bugs,_ " he mocked with a shit eating grin. "Cheap pieces of shit would erupt into mechanical sneezes if anyone sent a text or answered a call within five feet of them, just like my old computer speakers would, you know?"

The knife, sharpened edge and all, clattered to the ground.

"You totally brought them at that electronic store in town didn't you?" Stiles guessed, snorting in instant disagreement. "Should've asked around first dickhead, then you would've learnt that Jerry, the guy who owns said shop likes to cheat people out of their honest money."

The rambling finished on a pleased sigh, and the teenager leant back into his chair with a happy smile. Despite being tied, and more or less _covered_ in his own blood, he felt like he was winning the small spat – and that was because he had people on his side. He had a pack, a family coming for him. This man, confused and shocked before him, was alone and only had himself to fall back on now that things had gone sour.

By having a family, Stiles had already won, and he was planning on relishing in his victory.

The Collector stammered and stuttered, not actually making any intelligible noises as he did so, and once again there was an impressive shit eating grin on his captive features. Stiles was primed and ready to make a sarcastic comment, but a warm autumn scent reached his nose, and all he could so was smile when someone else managed to beat his legendary tongue to the punch.

"Well, it's not exactly _honest_ money, but I'm sure you get the point."

Stiles snuck a quick glance over the man's tense shoulders, his smile taking on a softer edge when his eyes landed on dark hair and glowing hazel orbs. "You did say you were going to go after them later," he pointed out. "It looks like we bumped up your schedule a little there, sweetheart."

Derek smiled back at him, eyes shining in relief. "Hope you don't mind," he murmured darkly. "But we got a little impatient, and you know, you were almost ready to skin my boyfriend." Leather covered shoulders lifted in a taunt but casual appearing shrug. "By the way, next time you wanna kidnap and torture someone, don't hold them _underneath_ the cottage their pack confronted you outside of. And also don't leave the front door to said cottage unlocked."

The last statement was added with a taunting smirk, and the hunter stared, his panicked orbs flickering to the blade at his feet. Ignoring the weapon and appearing uncaring about its existence, Derek stared right back, his own eyes beginning to turn a dangerous shade of red.

Then all hell broke loose.

Dropping down to snatch up his knife, the hunter spun on his heels as his wolfish opponent lunged; holding the blade up before his face and shoulders defensively. Derek changed his collision course at the last second, avoiding the damage his previous tackle could've coursed before lashing out and hooking his foot around the man's ankle. When the hunter hit the floor, breath rushing out in a strangled gasp, the wolf pounced.

Watching the fight and struggling against his bonds, Stiles grunted out in pain. "Scott! Dude! Help me out!" he yelled, feeling his shoulder muscles strain under the pressure. Absently he noted that somehow he was fighting harder against the ropes holding him back, then the hunter was fighting against the alpha holding _him_ down. "Come on! Be useful!"

Scott almost looked offended and torn, trembling on his feet. His eyes flickered between his alpha and his best friend. "Hey! I'm useful!"

"About as useful as a wet sponge," Stiles muttered with a roll of his eyes. "Remember your alpha? You know, that guy who's been helping you with this whole teen wolf thing? He's kinda _fighting to the death right now!_ Let me out! I have to help him!"

Scott blinked in confusion, eyes drifting over to the fight happening on the floor between them, and then taking in the other wolves circling them like vultures. The younger betas were growling and snapping, hands clenching at their sides in impatience. They couldn't interfere, not when the hunter and the hunted seemed to be everywhere at once; their limbs askew and delivering powerful blows – but they were hopeful.

"Stiles, I don't think he needs your help."

Stiles glared at the boy, mentally cursing the dry comment as it hung between them. "So what? You could still, you know, _let me out!"_ he snapped, wiggling his tied and still bloody body for emphasis. "I could circle and snarl like the others! Or maybe, like, stretch out my legs because I lost feeling in my butt close to three hours ago…"

His best friend was kneeling before him, untying him with seconds, features contorting into a sympathetic wince. "How long have you been tied here?" he asked carefully, tugging uselessly at the ropes. "Please tell me he at least let you up to pee or something?"

Stiles watched the boy stop and frown at the thick rope, absently tugging and poking at it. "You'd be a terrible boy scout," he announced dryly before shaking his head and sparing the fight another longing look. His boyfriend – angels sung in his head every time he so much as thought that – was on top of his captor, fists drawn back and raining down a torrent of damaging hits. "And nah, I've been tied here the whole time…"

"Whole time?" Scott squeaked, leaning back and offering up a large eyed look. "We should have come earlier man, I'm sorry, but something was up with your boy toy and his creepy uncle. And yeah, you're right; Derek wanted a nice dramatic entrance…"

Stiles allowed a quick grin to flicker across his features. " _Someone certainly enjoys making an entrance."_

* * *

He had to protect him.

He knew they'd planned it from the start, he knew that, yes; Stiles enduring a little pain and grinning through it was part of said plan, but everything in his mind was screaming. There was a voice in the back of his mind yelling, crying, and begging for him to save the boy; to defeat the threat currently cowering under his fists. To protect his mate from danger.

Derek slammed his hand against the man's nose, palm open, and smirked internally when he heard the bone crack under the pressure. The hunter cried out in pain, and while the wolf was pleased with the advancement, the voice demanded more.

 _Blood for blood._

Growling out, the alpha used his free hand to grip the front of the man's shirt and pull him up; causing his next attack to force the thick skull to crack against the concrete flooring. The heavy scent of blood hung in the air – parts of it laced with cinnamon and something that was undeniably his mates – but as the hunter's eyes glazed over from the force of the hit; the smell turned sickening.

Derek saw red – both literally and figuratively. His anger almost made him see everything through the eyes of an alpha, tinted crimson and focused only on the man beneath him and the way he smelt of his mate's fear. But he also saw the red of blood staining blonde locks; proving his hits were doing damage.

Good.

Through the haze of anger, he could hear his wolves huffing and puffing at his ankles; their snarls seeming to provide strength to his tiring limbs. It was strange that he was growing tired of the attacking, but his captor was still fighting back; albeit dazedly.

"Give up," Derek grunted, holding his fist behind his head, ready to deliver his hardest blow yet. "Stop fighting back."

The hunter's head lolled about, eyelids fluttering as blood bubbled up to fall from his lips. "That's usually my line," he countered, and the alpha felt his captive surge up, booted feet colliding with his upper shoulders and neck. "And if my memory serves correct; I told your _boyfriend_ to give up a few times tonight."

Derek snarled out, teeth gnashing as he fell away from the body, hunched into a crouch protectively. "Best thing about Stiles is the streak of stubbornness," he commented idly, ignoring the dull ache in his neck. The kick had been hard enough to force his had to snap forward, and agony was lacing every movement no matter how hard he shook it out. "And his fierce loyalty. Added bonus."

"I hear that's not the only added bonus you're cashing in on?" the Collector grinned manically. "Is his body as glorious as his wit? His tongue really as talented as it appears?"

Derek's mind flashed to a created image, imagination conjuring up the sight of this _monster_ touching the teenager the same way he had before. The sound of his mate's voice breathlessly begging for more as his long fingers carded through blonde locks, lanky body pressed up against – Grinding his teeth together, the alpha let out a low, dangerous sound.

The hunter kept up the smile. "A tad bit possessive are we?" he mocked, cocking his head this way and that. The wolves were tightening the circle, ready to join in the fight themselves, but he didn't seem concerned. "Don't like the idea of someone else having what's yours?"

"At least you've realised that he's mine!" Derek growled, lowering his head as his brow shifted with an oncoming change. "Which now leaves the question; _why_ did you take him if you knew he belonged to me?"

" _Hey! I don't belong to anyone! I am a strong, independent black woman."_

Neither the hunter nor the alpha werewolf cared much for the comment, or for the outraged teenager who'd shouted it across the room in indignation. Staying in a low crouch, Derek judged the force he'd need to show to get the man on his back again. He wanted to punch something – preferably the man's obnoxious and smug face.

"Maybe I just wanted to piss you off?"

Stiles' voice joined in the fray again, but was still distanced; no doubt because no one had thought to untie him yet. _"I thought it was because you wanted to hang my pelt on the wall? Isn't this about me? Why are we bringing him into our love?"_

Wrong choice of words. Derek felt his eyes flash, flitting over to the teenager across the room with what had to have been a growl of warning. He knew it was a joke – that it was just Stiles trying to hide his fear and discomfort, but inside him, buried deep; was the urge to eliminate the threat to his partnership and then show his mate just _who_ he belonged too.

It was primal, but the desire was growing in his chest. "Shut up Stiles," he commanded lowly, slowing looking to the boy and glaring him down. Confusion flitted across his features but after a few pointed looks from the rest of the pack, he dropped his eyes and nodded. Contented, the inner beast let him focus on the threat crouching before him. "You're going to die."

With practised ease, the hunter moved from his lowered statue to a tall form. "You seem sure," he realised, throat moving in a swallow. Silver glinted in his hand, and the room noticed the he'd managed to get his hands on his blade again. "Why? I've been winning this game since it started. What makes you think you can suddenly turn the tables?"

"Have you not noticed that you're outnumbered?" Derek asked slowly.

The hunter scowled. "I have a weapon, and that's all I need to take down a pack of mutts," he announced, rolling the blade about in his hands for emphasis. "I'll be cleaning your blood from this in a few hours."

Derek smirked, looking to his pack. "He's right guys, we better back off," he mocked, still hunkered low as he lifted his hands in a placating action. "Look out you lot, he's got a pair of tweezers. Can do some real damage with that."

"An fourteen inch blade is _not_ a pair of tweezers."

"Over compensating much?" Derek grumbled, arching a brow artfully. It was a move he'd learnt from his uncle, and as the man's features turned a hilarious shade of pink, he was suddenly glad Peter had perfected the art of pushing his sarcasm into his eyebrows.

The anger in the hunter's face was worth what happened next. The few seconds of smug satisfaction were going to stick around in his memories forever, while the _fourteen inch_ blade lodged into his shoulder would heal over in a couple of minutes. Derek liked to think he was the one who was winning in this situation – knife in his body and all.

" _Derek!"_

Grimacing at the pain, but not bothering to do much more than that, Derek looked up at a flash of movement. His mate – _Stiles_ – was looming behind the hunter, eyes wide and panicked as his mind apparently forgot that the alpha wolf would bounce back from the injury within the hour. There was blood on his chest, going down in rivulets or pooling in the hollow of his throat, trailing down the expanse of white skin as his body moved in time with his harsh breaths.

He looked stunning.

The hunter turned, pinned by glowing amber eyes. "You baby faced, fucktarded, idiotic, rude, arrogant, selfish _hunting bastard!"_ Stiles hissed out and then there was another blade, sharpened to a gleaming point, and held in the slim hands of the fuming teenagers. "Over compensate for this, you son of a bitch."

And with a small grunt, a quick movement and a blood soaked scowl – the hunter had a hunting knife lodged into his sternum.

The pack watched, almost entranced as the Collector stumbled backwards, wide eyes glued to the blade protruding from his chest. His lips were moving, blood dribbling over his lower lip as he tried to have the last word. "You'll die…" he whispered, froth forming in the corner of his mouth. "If not by my hand… then by someone else's…"

Stiles shook his head. "Anyone who comes for me, or for my pack, is gonna have one hell of a problem on their hands, asshole," he snapped, reaching out to press on the hilt of the blade. It creaked and earned a pained groan. "I say; bring it on."

The hunter fell.

* * *

 **Late again? Late again!**

 **The hell… I am so sorry guys; I can't even explain how sorry I am. Really. I wanted to get this up, but things are just… Monday. You will have your update on time, and I'll try to give you some presents – early or extra? – this week as apology.**

 **Taila xx**


	25. Aftermath

"Dude. Did you use a catch phrase?"

Stiles glared heatedly over his shoulders, hands stilling over the blade lodged into his alpha's shoulder. One part of his mind wanted to launch a sarcastic comment back at the teenager, but another part was panicking; flitting back and forth nervously over the fact that there was a _knife_ in his boyfriend's _shoulder_ and he was _the only one worrying._

Snatching back his gaze and forcing it back to the wound, he elected to keep his lips firmly pressed together. His head had already created multiple replies, so the only way they were _staying_ in his head was if they had no way out.

Hence the whole mouth stays shut thing.

"Stiles? Hey, hey come on." A warm hand landed on the curve of his hip, burning into the cool skin like a branding iron. He flinched at the reminder of the heated rod used on his body hours before, but otherwise didn't pull away from the man, forcing his muscles not to tense up. "Stiles, it'll be fine. You know it will."

He looked up, meeting hazel eyes as his body drew in a long gulp of air; the smell of fallen leaves and _home_ echoing in his mind. "We won," he mumbled quietly, nodding his head. "I know."

Derek lifted his other hand, running his knuckles over a blood stained cheek. "You were incredible," he tried, smiling weakly.

"You shouldn't have gotten hurt," Stiles decided dryly, teeth grinding together somewhat harshly even as he gently pulled out the blade. Thanks to the deceased hunter's preferences, the edge was smooth and rolled out like a knife cutting through butter. "I was just _standing_ and _watching_ and being an idiot. If I'd done something sooner…"

Derek silenced his ramblings with a chaste kiss, a smear of blood decorating his upper lip as he pulled back. "It's literally the equivalent of a paper cut to me, and you know it. Stop trying to find something to blame on yourself. We're all fine – you included."

Stiles breathed out through his nose, studying the man gingerly sitting on the same seat he'd been tortured in with an earnest eye. His boyfriend – _angelic chorus we meet again –_ had always struggled with that whole lying thing some people did sometimes; and there was this tell he had whenever he did. But seeing as there was a strong and healthy heartbeat hiding under his wife beater, and his right eyebrow wasn't twitching – like he'd said; tell – Stiles deduced the man was being honest.

"Okay," he sighed, leaning forward to rest his head in the crook of the man's neck. "Okay, we're fine. The asshole is dead and we're all still standing."

Derek's arms lifted to wrap around his waist, settling into the grooves of his hip with familiarity. "You know, I was expecting more of a fight from him," he mused absently. "I almost feel like he wasn't really trying."

"You clearly didn't see yourself then," Stiles muttered, happily nuzzling closer.

Derek smoothed a hand over his back, the warmth of his skin flooding throughout the weakened body beneath his palm. "What do you mean?" he whispered, breath dancing through dark hair. After speaking, he shifted until he could press a lingering kiss to the teenager's temples, one hand squeezing his hip in comfort. "Did I look like I was struggling?"

"No, complete opposite actually. You were savage," Stiles announced, leaning back and smiling softly. "All red eyes and snapping – and _hey_ , why did you growl at me?" he demanded, eyebrow furrowing as one hand lifted to slap his still open wound.

Hissing out a breath – it may have been healing, but it still _hurt_ – Derek rolled out his shoulder and settled his features into a short scowl. "You said something about you and the bastard's love," he mocked, voice dropping on the last word. "I don't know if you've realised this yet, but you're mine Stiles. And only mine."

And didn't that cause heat to pool in his gut. Wow.

Stiles shifted, feeling his cheeks blaze as the grip on his hip tightened to the point of pain. "No backing out of this is there?" he asked innocently, avoiding the man's gaze. The hand on his hip loosened, the fingers no longer digging in but stroking a path between two moles. "Not that I want too!" he added quickly, "It's just – we – you…"

"You can leave whenever you want too," Derek promised slowly, and finally whiskey orbs shot back to watch him. "I'm not going to force you to stay with me, but I'll do whatever I can to make you _want_ too."

Stiles mouth popped open.

"It's been a few days, I know, not exactly a lengthy relationship – but I'm happy. And I know you're the reason why," Derek confessed, shrugging both his shoulders limply. "And don't go ribbing into me about how this is a shitty time to bring this up. I already regret saying anything but it's the truth. You wanna leave, you leave; I just can't guarantee I'll let you go for very long."

Stiles struggled for a few seconds, his mind whirling and body fidgeting. "A couple days in and you're already this attached?" he joked uselessly, not really know what else he could say. "Give it a month and you'll consider us married."

"Give it two and you'll be moving in," Derek countered back, a smiling tugging at the corner of his lips. It may have only been a few days between them, but he understood the teasing lines for what they were – acceptance. "Imagine where we'll be in a year?"

Stiles smiled back, leaning down to rest his head on the dark haired man's shoulder, tucking his legs up until he was curled on the strong lap. "I'd rather not," he murmured, hands between them and idly tugging at the wife beater separating him from lean muscle. "The thought is kinda frightening. For all I know; I'll be pregnant."

"You – what – how would that even happen?"

"Ever heard of the alpha, omega, beta universe?" Stiles questioned.

Derek frowned into dark brown hair, one hand still rubbing circles into the boys back while the other mapped out the dips and ridges of his hips. "No, I can't say I have," he answered slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Stiles snorted into the column of his neck. "Start reading fanfiction," he suggested, words dropping into a quietly pleased hum when the hand ventured higher. There were no wounds left, but there was still the ghost of the blade dancing across his ribs, or the burn of the poker pressing between his shoulder blades – the alpha's touch chased it away.

"Maybe not," Derek whispered back, a self-satisfied smile decorating his lips as he took in the content sheen to whiskey irises. "I like my sanity," he continued, cocking his head before daringly brushing the tips of his fingers below the boy's navel.

Stiles breathed in sharply. "And I like mine, so stop with the touching," he scolded, swallowing as he swatted away the wandering hand.

"Not here?"

The words made his eyes snap to hazel, searching for the humour but only finding a calm seriousness that made his stomach tighten. Licking his lips at the promise shining in dark orbs, Stiles hesitantly nodded. "Yeah, not here," he murmured. "I'll never hear the end of it."

Derek laughed softly, pushing the boy back slightly to check over the expanse of his skin again. "We should go," he decided, coaxing the other to put his feet back on the ground again. "I don't think you should stick around any longer than you have too, and I think you might wanna talk to your dad as well? It's close to five now; he'd be waking up for the early shift right?"

Stiles just kept nodding, agreeing with everything the man was saying. "Yeah, he would, and he'd be checking up on me I bet."

"All the more reason to hurry along," Derek pushed. "Come on, let's go."

* * *

By the time they finally pulled to stop outside his house; Stiles' father had desperately resorted to texting his boyfriend. _His boyfriend._ The message itself wasn't something that his mind was comfortable repeating – but the gist of it was that his father noticed his disappearance, texted him like wild only to find the teen's cell on his bed, and now was loading his gun with wolfsbane bullets.

And Stiles didn't even want to know how he _got_ the bullets.

"You should text him back," Derek suggested slowly, staring down the message before thrusting the phone in the boy's direction. "I've already been stabbed once tonight – if I get shot I'm not even going to bother dealing with the poison in my system."

Stiles smiled, but shook his head. "You'd just give up? Pussy. And we're here, there's no use texting him now," he snorted, shifting the shirt he wore so that the sleeves covered his shoulders again. The hunter had done something with his own shirt, so he'd been forced to cover up with a plain cotton one belonging to the wolf beside him; and it had this annoying habit of falling to pool over his arms.

Annoying to _him_ at least – every time the material fell, Derek's eyes were drinking in the sight of his neck and collar bone greedily, pupils blown wide and leaving only a small band of hazel. The little shit with his stupid little gaze of sex.

Almost like he could hear his thoughts, Derek reached out and tugged down the oversized sleeve. "I'm just trying to say I'm exhausted," he explained, grinning as he leant in and pressed an open mouth kiss to the hollow of his clavicle.

 _Not exhausted enough to mess with my teenage libido though, am I right?_

Stiles spared the man a sharp look, trying to warn him against going any further with his lips. "Uh huh," he allowed, swallowing back what would have been an embarrassing sound when the alpha ignored him and licked along the ridge of his bone. "Gah, would you stop? I need to go see my dad, remember? The guy with the gun and wolfsbane bullets?"

The tongue ghosting along his skin was traded for softer lips, kisses being innocently pressed up his neck. "Hmmm," Derek sighed, breath fanning out against his pulse. "Are you tired?"

 _The hell does that have to do with anything?_ Stiles shot him a confused glance. "Not really, strangely enough. Why?"

Derek shrugged but thankfully – _thankfully –_ backed away, relaxing into his seat again. "I feel like going for a run," he murmured, eyes flashing red for a split second. "Just through the woods. You interested? After you calm your dad down?"

Stiles blinked. "Okay?" he offered slowly, cocking his had ever so slightly. The man had been acting strangely clingy since he'd killed the hunter, but he had just thought it was because death had literally been looming over his head. "I mean, sure yeah, that'll be great. I'll go talk him down and get him to go into work, and then I'm meet you outside the back of the house?"

The grin lighting up Derek's features was fucking perfection. "Brilliant," he breathed, and with a quick movement; he darted forward and demanded another kiss.

Stiles licked his lips, and blinked back the desire to just stay where he was; content in the warmth of the car, and almost suffocating under the smell of both himself and his alpha. _No, no, mister – your dad is panicking and probably pacing the floor into an early grave. Family first, fucking later. No! Shit, don't think that. Family first,_ _ **bonding**_ _later._

"You – y-yeah – we'll do the – Bye?"

Stiles almost fell out of the car, collapsing to the pavement with a small grunt of embarrassment. He could hear the laughter of his alpha boyfriend echoing in the car, and slammed the door with an angry glare in the man's direction, making sure to continue glaring even as he walked away. And while he may or may not have tripped about three times on the short walk to his front door; it was worth it.

As the car tore away, engine purring, he slowed in his movements; suddenly nervous. His dad was beyond that door and mad, oh so mad, and the man wasn't someone you wanted to mess with.

He had these things…

You know, _guns_? Apparently, they're bad, or something? Lethal, the word might've been.

Stiles pushed open the front door, not overly surprised that it swung open to reveal a frantic looking man pacing on the other side. His father looked like he'd aged ten years since he'd seen him last, one hand fisting in his short hair and the other pressed against his lips to hold back whatever was building in his throat.

"Daddy?" he tried, the endearment falling from his lips as he kicked the door shut behind him. The man spun on his heels, lips moving soundlessly before his face collapsed into relief, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. Staring at his father, Stiles felt his throat close up, and he struggled to speak around the lump now lodged there. "D-dad, I'm fine, I'm fine," he soothed, reaching out with his hands.

John stumbled forward and wrapped him up in a hug, mumbling incoherent words into his hair. "My baby boy," he whispered, voice catching. "Don't you _ever_ do that to me again, Stiles, don't you dare…"

Stiles was pushed back, twin hands covering his flushed cheeks as they forced him to meet worried eyes. "I'm sorry dad, I'm so sorry," he muttered back, lifting his hands to hold the ones touching his features. "I couldn't leave anything for you just in case the night didn't go according to plan, a-and I thought it was gonna go to shit because – because, fuck, he had _two_ bugs in the loft! And we only found one, so I thought he'd heard the whole thing, and it was gonna go to shit but – "

"Stiles? Stiles, it's okay, just breathe," John demanded, pressing forward to hug the boy again. "I don't care, I promise – I just, I woke up and checked on you, but your bed was empty, car still here and I _knew_ there was a hunter after you…"

He almost wanted to cry, to yell out that he was sorry and that he didn't mean for any of this to happen. He didn't mean for his dad to be scared all morning, for his boyfriend and alpha to be injured, for his friends to be stung by a lie. He didn't want it either – to see the fear, to see the blood, to see the betrayal. But he knew the saying; _you can't always get what you want,_ or in this case, what you _don't_ want.

Trying to take in a gulp of air, Stiles shuddered. "I'm sorry," he muttered pathetically.

John nodded against his head, chin bumping his crown, before they both fell into silence; neither really having the strength to break it. It took the older male a few minutes to properly compose himself again, chest moving in deep breaths and his arms clinging to the younger form with desperation. Throughout it all, Stiles was happy to be held, almost sad to realise that this was one of the first times he'd hugged his father in a while.

"What happened?" John voiced quietly, not breaking the embrace the same way he broke the silence. "Why were you gone? You're covered in blood, so are you hurt? What happened tonight?"

Stiles closed his eyes, tucking his nose into the cotton uniform shirt his father had donned. "We took him down, dad," he bragged without conviction, breathing in the scent of laundry detergent and something he could only label as twilight. It was pleasant to say it out loud – that they'd won – but the victory had long since worn off, and despite what he'd told his alpha in the car; he was honestly just tired. "We let him kidnap me, and then we took him down just when he thought he was winning."

John stiffened slightly, arms digging in a little harder. "You let him what?"

"I met him last night – snuck out, sorry – and he knocked me out before dragging me to the same place he confronted the pack," Stiles frowned slightly but shrugged the information away, moving to finally drag his father into the kitchen. His eyes narrowed at the packet of sugary cereal sitting innocently on the counter.

 _I didn't buy that._

John allowed the younger boy to push him into one of the chairs gracing the counter. "Okay, but why are you covered in blood?" he demanded again, eyes hard and steely, a silent message that no amount of sarcasm was going to get him out of answering.

Stiles smiled weakly. "He, uh, the blood is from – uh, well you know me and my mouth?" he chuckled mirthlessly, a hand lifting to rub against the back of his neck. It came away bloodied and he grimaced, hurrying to wash it away under the tap.

Watching him putter around, John nodded slowly, a wince coming to life on his features. "Yeah, I know your mouth," he admitted, shaking his head now. There was an absent grumble from his stomach, but he didn't bother to reach out for the cereal – his son already assuming the role of mother hen and readying some eggs. "Didn't I tell you it was going to get you in trouble one day?"

"It wasn't too bad. I mean, it seems terrible at the time and you want it to stop – that's _all_ you want but…" he shrugged, not concerned as he spoke about his torture. "It wasn't too bad thinking back on it," Stiles allowed, smiling over his shoulder as he bustled about making a better breakfast for his parent. It was hardwired into his brain now – correct the wrongs years of bad eating had done to the man's body, if only so he'll stick around longer.

His father was silent for a few beats. "What did he do? How did he hurt you?"

Stiles shifted in discomfort, electing to instead watch the food cooking on the stove with exaggerated interest. "Uh, his favourites were this small butterfly dagger, I think they're called? Just small cuts, nothing too big, but those ones sting like a bitch! Fuck man, they hurt."

"Language."

Blinking, Stiles cocked a brow at the comment – _telling me to watch my tongue, really dad? –_ but nodded and continued on with his spiel. "Second favourite method was probably the one I disliked the most," he admitted after a few seconds. "An iron poker. He'd heat it up with a blowtorch and said he was gonna try burn away all of my moles," he snorted, swallowing back the memory of burning. "Didn't work of course, if you wanna check, but he really tried to go through with it. Points for effort, and all that."

A hand suddenly touched his shoulder, and it took all he had not to jump or flinch away. "You've healed okay?" John questioned, patting the skin under his hand before moving to make his coffee. He didn't bother to even _look_ at the sugar container. "You need me to call Melissa?"

"Nah, don't bother her," Stiles instructed, frowning as the eggs curdled and sizzled on the pain. "I tried not to heal you know, just to annoy him. But I passed out at some point, and self-preservation kicked in so by the time I woke up, the worst of my wounds were being healed," he sighed, shooting the man a tired smile. "So I guess I'm a little sore, but otherwise there's no real pain left over."

Silence.

"No _real_ pain?"

Stiles closed his eyes, wondering why the hell he'd thought his father would overlook the slight of word. Straightening his shoulders, he turned and fetched some bread; shoving it in the toaster with a harsh movement. "Wounds will heal dad, but the heads a little harder," he voiced idly, keeping his tone light. "I'm gonna have some fucked up nightmares, you know?"

"I know," John sighed out, sipping at his coffee. "Son, do you want me to take the day off? I could call in and – "

"Dad, no," Stiles smiled and shook his head, getting out a plate and readying the meal he'd made somewhat absently. "I'm gonna spend some time with… with the pack and take my mind off whatever the hell happened in the past few hours." Pushing the plate towards his dad, he gestured for the man to sit down and dig in. "It was weird, almost like he'd let us take him down too easily. I didn't think about it until Derek pointed it out, but the final fight lasted – damn, it must have been under ten minutes? A little pathetic and anticlimactic really."

John happily started to eat, forking food into his mouth before attempting to talk around it. "'ho killed 'em?"

"Oh, million dollar question," Stiles sung, spinning on his heel and beginning to make his own cup of caffeine. "And the answer is me, I killed him. Knife through the sternum baby! Not that he didn't deserve it, of course, and I feel like it hasn't exactly hit me yet that I just killed a man, but I said a catchphrase!"

The blubbering mess of words was said almost too fast, even for Stiles' quick fire mind, but there was a sense of panic in the conversation now. He couldn't help but feel almost skittish, breaching the topic of his blood stained hands, and made sure to keep his back to his father – not wanting to see the disappointment or horror darkening his features.

"Oh?"

Stiles ground his teeth together, injecting false joy into his voice when he answered with; "Yeah! I murdered him before he murdered everyone else I love. I would say I've done the world a favour, but Batman once said that if you kill a killer there's still a killer in the world or something like that? I don't remember it too much – I'm more a Marvel fan anyway, you know? Team Ironman all the way."

John was still eating, but was slower as he forked the eggs and toast into his mouth, eyes clouded over. "You killed a man, and you don't need therapy?" he asked vaguely, brow coming together.

"Uh, don't think so, no?" Stiles shot back.

John hesitated with his next mouthful, before an almost blinding smile lit up his features. "That's my boy," he exclaimed, lifting his cup in a mocking salute. "Therapy is for the weak. Well, no, I mean, it's not," the man blanched when his own words hit his ears. "You're not weak if you need it! You're really strong if you can ask for help, but uh... I mean…" he sighed, smiling weakly. "I'm proud son."

"You're proud of me because I killed a man?"

John sent him an almost scathing look. "I'm either proud that you killed man who threatened everyone you loved, or I'm proud you wrote an entire three thousand word essay on the history of circumcision. Your choice."

Stiles didn't even hesitate, already lifting his own mug. "Yay for murder!" he announced, hearing his father echo the statement a few seconds later. He lowered his cup to sip from it, confusion making his features twist about. "You know; we probably shouldn't be saying things like that. It's not natural."

"Neither is being able to turn into a fox."

"Touché," Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Good sir, touché."

Pushing his now empty plate forward, John stood, tipping back the rest of his cup. "I need to head into work, late enough as it," he muttered, shaking his head before hesitated. His eyes clouded over again, taking on a sheen of concern before he moved forward to hug his son once again. "I'm glad you're okay son, after the past weeks you've had. I was scared, but maybe now I'll actually sleep, yeah?"

Stiles smiled into the embrace. "Thanks dad," he murmured. "But if you can't sleep, come get me, we can be insomniacs together, okay?" Patting the man's shoulder, he pulled back and grabbed the dirtied plate, already moving to the sink.

"See you after work?"

Stiles nodded instantly, already falling back into the regular routine as he asked; "What do you want for tea?"

He could more feel then see the smile his father directed his way. "Whatever you want, son," John allowed, walking towards the front door, keys clinking together in his hands and occasionally catching the light. "See you soon."

"Bye dad," Stiles called as the front door slammed shut, grabbing a towel to dry his hands. The dishes were clean, and the house was decent enough from his nervous house work the days before, so he wandered upstairs – intent on a shower despite the date he had to keep with his alpha. The man could stand to wait a few extra minutes while he'll wiped the blood from his person, because _ew_.

Moving into the bathroom, Stiles let out a world weary sigh, the ache in his bones growing a little more demanding with every passing second. It was strange, that his body was in pain from healing pain. Was that a thing now? He'll get a papercut, body will heal it, then body will bitch for the next couple of days? Was that his life?

If it was then god, his life was fucked in so many ways.

But hey, at least, you know, the bad guy was dead and they'd won the battle with practically no casualties or war wounds. It still seemed a little _too_ easy, but Stiles decided to let it be, instead starting up the shower. There was the whole; _don't look a gift horse in the mouth_ , thing to consider anyway.

As the water warmed, he leant back against the basin, yawning into his hand. He wasn't overly interested in turning around and staring down his reflection; knowing that it wasn't going to be a pretty sight – but apparently what he wanted and what he got were two very different things. Because he found himself staring into familiar whiskey eyes before he could tell his body _no._

And holy shit – he looked like someone had put him through both a blender and a wood chipper simultaneously.

Suddenly the concern of his father's behalf was a lot more believable because _damn_ , he was not looking good. Even though the bruises and cuts had healed, there was still a bone deep exhaustion lingering in his features; turning his skin a pale shade and colouring the skin under his eyes a dark purple. Not to mention there was blood. A lot of it.

Why hadn't he passed out from blood loss yet or something a rather? Isn't that what happened?

"Yes, you're gorgeous, you can stop staring at yourself now."

"Gah!" Stiles spun at the sudden voice, feet slipping on the tiled floor and hands blindly grabbing out for support. He found it in the shape of strong arms, and the solid weight of another body. "Derek, you bloody wanker. Why, after everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, would you sneak up on me?" he demanded, resisting the childish urge to stomp his foot.

Derek stared back, all hazel eyes and smirking lips. "Because you agreed to meet me out back once your dad had headed into work, but here you are in your bathroom instead?" he offered. "You might say I get impatient really easily."

Stiles eyed him for a few seconds before snorting, and pushing away. "Yeah well, I'm covered in blood and grime, and I kinda wanted to shower first. I thought you'd understand," he grumbled, straightening the stolen shirt before checking the water temperature.

"Shower? Can I help?"

The words made whiskey snap back to hazel, confused amusement littering the golden orbs. Stiles wasn't sure _what_ had gotten into the man, only that he wasn't used to this kind of attention. Shifting somewhat awkwardly, he cleared his throat. "What the hell is wrong with you lately?" he demanded, shaking his head and keeping some distance between them. "It's like you've been hit with cuddle pollen or something?"

Derek's beautiful lips tugged downwards into a frown. "Cuddle pollen?" he questioned.

"Fanfiction."

The alpha made a small sound of understanding, the end twisting into a chuckle. "Forgive me for being affectionate," he shook his head, smiling widely and effectively stopping the teenagers heart dead. "Can't I want to spend time with my boyfriend?"

"No, no you can't," Stiles decided, looking away as heat flood through his cheeks. What the hell was going on here? An elaborate prank? A joke from the pack? Oh, we'll just throw the hot guy his way and see what happens? "What are you doing, Derek?"

Derek didn't seem to catch on, shrugging as he made his way closer. "Flustering you, by the looks of it."

"No, I…" Stiles sighed and backed away again, preferring to have something between their bodies. "I just – what are you _doing?_ With me? Was this, I don't know, your way of getting me to tell you everything I knew about the fox? Some perverted torture scheme for information? If it was, man, you're a lot smarter than you look, because it worked like a charm."

Derek took a step back, features twisting into a blank slate. "You think this was me playing you?" he asked, no emotion lining his voice. The dull monotone was terrifying to hear, and something cracked in the teenager's chest at the sudden change from playful to guarded.

"I, well, it's – you're just, you know…" Stiles wrung his hands together nervously, shower long forgotten. "We're different levels? I guess… I mean, you're like a solid ten for looks, maybe a nine for personality – grumpy isn't the new sexy – and I'm sitting here on a wavering five for both if I'm lucky," he snorted without humour. "It's just, you know, we're not exactly… it's like…"

A muscle in Derek's cheek twitched. "Didn't I tell you, less than an hour ago, that I was willing to let you go – but only for a short amount of time?" he pointed out, turning to watch the water fall from the shower head. "Fine, if you don't think this will work – we'll end it."

"I – you – what?"

Derek stared him down. "It's over."

And that didn't hurt. No. Nope. Not even a little. That strange cracking? No, that wasn't the sound of his heart breaking in two; we good. "Oh, okay then," Stiles deflated, realising that with his argument this should have been what he wanted. At least now he wasn't being played. "Uh, I guess you should probably leave or something and – "

A demanding kiss shut him the hell up, and his lower back hit the basin hard enough to bruise the already pale skin. "Happy now?" Derek breathed out, his hands moving to grab slim hips as he pulled away from the kiss. "I let you go for a short amount of time. Now stop questioning everything and be happy for once," he scolded in a tight growl. "You'd think it would be me having the second thoughts, not you."

"You – You're actually serious?" Stiles asked hopefully.

Derek sighed, and whatever anger had been fuelling him ran dry. "Yes Stiles, I'm very serious," he murmured, nuzzling into a warm neck. "I've told you already that I'm happy. Twice today now actually; my emotional interaction is in overflow."

A chuckle left the teen's lips without permission. "You're actually serious," Stiles realised, leaning more into the hold now. His weight was accepted easily, and he snuggled in closer, enjoying the feeling of warmth around him. "So you want to be with a five? Even though you're double my stats right now?"

"Yes, I do," Derek promised, tugging away so he could plaster another kiss against pliant lips. For once the kiss wasn't demanding or awkwardly shy, but instead something comfortably lazy – like the man knew he didn't have to rush, like he knew he had all the time he could've wanted because the boy in his arms wasn't going anywhere.

Stiles sighed into the lax lip lock, pulling away with a small smile. "I still need a shower," he pointed out dazedly.

"And I'm still offering," Derek answered with a grin.

* * *

 **Not to fear! On time author is here!**

 **Oh yeah bitches, this chapter is on time, and damn it is a good one, I like it. Been writing it since I updated the last one, and when you're not rushing it terribly, it comes out a lot better don't you think? Oh well, here it is, and I hope you love it :)**

 **Admittedly, there is only one chapter left after this… Want it next week or earlier?**

 **Taila xx**


	26. Happy Ending? Right?

Why was he born with such a slim body?

 _Why?_

Had he done something to someone important in a previous life? Was he the sniper on the grassy knoll? Did killing a president cause fate to decide that no matter how many egg white omelettes he had, and no matter how long he pumped iron; he'd be left with a sad and pathetic lack of muscle mass? Was this his life now?

Snorting as he spared his lean stomach a quick glance, Stiles only shook his head in mild irritation. It was worth it, he supposed – the assassination _had_ gone down in history, and his boyfriend didn't seem to care much for the lack of bulk covering his form. If anything; Derek seemed to take a perverse pleasure in watching his shirts drop from slim shoulders, or his sweats slipping down slender hips.

All the more reason to seek out the alpha's clothes rather than his own. Stiles grinned, tugging at the waistband of the cotton pants he'd stolen from the drawers. _All the more reason..._

"Damn it."

Speaking of alpha boyfriends...

Stiles stumbled into the kitchen, yawning behind his hand as he moved around the counter and closer to the warm body lingering by the stove. "Hey, darling puppy of mine, having trouble with something?" he questioned lazily, pressing his face between strong shoulder blades. At the answering grunt, he peeked over the tanned expanse of skin, taking in the charred pancake with a grin. "Oh dear me – the wolf has challenged the oven. This is going to end in blood and tears. Mostly blood though. Okay, _only_ blood, I was lying about the tears."

"Your blood," Derek threatened idly, flipping the pancake onto a plate before filling the pan with more batter. "And if you want tears, I can always ensure you provide some."

As the batter sizzled, Stiles reached out to lower the heat setting with a frown. "Well then, it's only right I warn you that I've lived off energy drinks for long enough that they've turned my blood to pure sugar," he sung under his breath, pressing a soft kiss to the closer swatch of skin his lips could reach.

The muscle in Derek's shoulder twitched under his lips. "Well, we did run out of maple syrup this morning," he murmured absently, studying the pancake before flipping it with a cautious and awkward action.

"And now you're planning on using my sugar-pumped blood instead? Cannibal," Stiles goaded, nuzzling his nose against heady smelling skin. There was something strangely smug curling in his stomach when he noticed that his own scent was mixing with the alphas, and he hid his grin into tanned shoulders.

Derek corrected him in seconds, used to their banter by now; _"Werewolf."_ His low voice boomed through the room in a dangerous baritone, but his body leant back contently as he absently continued cooking.

It was one habit of Stiles' that the alpha approved of – the constant need to touch.

Stiles made a sound in the back of his throat, moving to encircle a slim waist with his arms. "So you couldn't be happy with just having me beside you? You have to literally _eat_ me now, so I'm a part of you?" he demanded in feigned exasperation. "Oh my god, why am I reminded of the _Fox and the Hound?_ Why would my brain make that connection? I'm ruining my own childhood here."

A small smile tugged at the lips of the man in his arms, draining whatever frustration has been painting lines through his features. "I'm not a hound, Stiles, I'm a wolf," he grumbled. "Stop insulting me."

" _Insul –_ Hey! You are practically a puppy!" Stiles defended with a smothered chuckle, catching the sharp glare hazel eyes shot him through thick lashes. "Don't try and kill me with your eyes, asshole, you know I'm right. If the fact that you were so adorable didn't give it away, the look you give me when I leave you would just about do it."

"I don't give you a look – "

" _And_ – don't interrupt me – you're also kinda, like really fluffy when you change. So that's three points in my favour so far," Stiles noted with a pleased nod, skimming his lips over shifting muscles. "And, and, and, you do tricks. Observe. Derek, act pissed."

Derek growled low in his throat.

"See! I win," Stiles gloated, squeezing the hips in his grasp for a split second.

The alpha in his grip wiggled, moving from the stove to the counter beside it. "You didn't win," Derek sneered without heat, piling two plates high with pancakes, smothering one in syrup while leaving the other bare. "I'm not _acting_ pissed – I _am_ pissed."

"Puh-lease. You can never be mad at me."

"Correction; I'm always mad at you."

Stiles narrowed his eyes, whiskey orbs boring a hole through the expanse of skin before them. He wanted to play like that, did he? Fine, two could play at this game, but only one could win. And he knew damn well who was more likely to come out on top – of the game, at least. Whoever topped in _other_ activities really depended on the alphas mood.

Shaking away the distracting thoughts, Stiles pointedly took his hands back. "Okay then," he allowed, making a sharp turn on his heel before storming towards the opposite side of the kitchen. He could do with some caffeine anyway.

Derek frowned over at him. "Where are you going?" he asked slowly, looking to the finished meal before him before back up with confusion in his eyes. "I made you breakfast."

"And? I thought you were _mad_ at me," Stiles breathed out with a tight smile, adopting the perfect look of restrained anger. Inwardly he was chortling at the panic flitting through hazel orbs, but on the outside he almost appeared bored with the situation. It was the perfect recipe for a desperate to please alpha, and a good morning for him.

Derek hesitantly moved closer, studying the boy as his nostrils flared. _Shit. I won't smell pissed._ Thinking of every asshole to call him a name, or the certain asshole who had tried to skin him didn't do much but cause a flare of irritation in his gut, and he mentally cursed. If there was anything to give his ploy away, it would be his scent. And as the alpha's lips eased into a grin, he realised he'd lost without really even competing.

Large hands skimmed across his sides, before spreading out over the small of his back. "Maybe more mad _about_ you, then at you," Derek drawled – and if anyone else had said it, Stiles would've snorted at the cheesy line, but now he could only gulp in air with an almost desperate edge. "I made you breakfast..." he repeated, eyes glassy as the smile stayed on his lips. "You won't let it go to waste will you?"

Stiles shook his head, swallowing back the whimper climbing up his throat. Damn it, all the man was doing was holding him and giving him a smile; why was he so weak at the knees? Was he that touch starved or was it because this was _Derek?_ "You provided food for me," he noted slowly. "Almost like you're trying to prove to me that you can. Your wolfish side is coming out to play again."

"If this was my wolfish side, it would be a deer carcass instead of pancakes."

Stiles started to laugh, only for the sound to end on a strangled groan as lips left a heated path up the pale column of his neck. "Oh, _fuck,_ " he whispered, closing his eyes tightly against the onslaught. Grinding his teeth together to stop the next embarrassing noise from slipping past his lips, the youth bunched his hands in the material covering slim hips. "You're cheating."

The choked whisper was delivered in a hoarse tone, and the teenager almost winced at the embarrassing sound, but the male before him chuckled; sending vibrations spiralling through his throat. "Playing fair doesn't work against you," Derek pointed out in a low rumble, happy to continue with his absent ministrations. "You always give a damn good argument. I never win."

"I use logic!" Stiles spoke around the lips pecking delicately at his own. "And then you use your mouth. Rude."

"This might be the first time you've ever complained that I've _used my mouth_ ," Derek purred, nipping at the curve of the others jaw before moving to press a firm kiss against pliant lips. Continuing to speak, despite his mouth being otherwise engaged, the older male growled low in his throat. "In fact, this might be the only time you've even managed coherent words, when I'm using my mouth..."

Stiles whimpered, shivering as a hand travelled upwards to hold his shoulders in place. "Stop saying; _when I'm using my mouth_ ," he scolded weakly, unable to do anything but tremble when a thigh worked between his legs. "It, uh, it sounds, _fuck_ , bloody pretentious when you say it."

Derek pulled back, just enough so that his captive could catch his satisfied smirk. "Say that again?" he taunted, moving back into the others space with a pointed slowness to his actions. "It was hard to hear you over the sound of your moans."

"Just because I've made a good point, you've decided to bring out the dirty talk? Are you _only_ capable of cheating?"

Stiles had been going for an annoyed look, really he had, hopefully with a frown and everything, but his alpha shot the notion down before his lips could even twitch. Closing the distance between them with a short growl, the wolf demanded his mouth again, this time almost harsh as he bit at the full lower lip under his own. The unusually rough treatment made the youth start back, eyes already fluttering closed as fingertips dug into the ridges of his spine.

It only took a few seconds for the alpha to force him backwards, and his bare shoulders hit the fridge, eliciting a surprised yelp when the cool metal pressed against his skin. Derek didn't let the sound hit the air, devouring it as one of his hands crept around to dance along his navel before slowly dropping lower.

Stiles moaned as he slumped back, neck on display – cough, fetish, cough – as the larger hand brushed past the waistband of his stolen cotton pants. _Just a little further, god, please –_

"Oh nephew! You made breakfast!"

Derek leapt backwards, lower back colliding with the counter top in his desperation to get away. His eyes were wild, and still somehow glossed over with lust, as they snapped to the intruder happily trotting into the room. Peter grinned, all teeth, and wandered to strand near them both, creating a three way conversation as he relaxed by the stove.

"I can only say that now that I know where that hand of yours has been – I sincerely hoped you washed your hands first," Peter commented with the same sly air about him. "Did you make enough for all of us?"

Derek cleared his throat, shoulders slumping ever so slightly as the tension drained somewhat. "I made enough for Stiles and myself," he bit out with a short frown, eyes narrowing. "And no, I didn't wash my hands. Help yourself."

Peter clearly understood the challenge lingering, and his eyes snapped from the plates of food to the younger male slowly straightening up. With a snort, he pushed away from the stove and offered them both a wry smile. "I've suddenly decided I'm not hungry for teenage hormones. If you need me, I'll be at the diner in town. Their pancakes don't have pubic hair in them."

Stiles woke up enough from his sex haze to argue with a solid; _"Hey!"_

The beta had already stalked dramatically from the room, but his chuckles could be heard long after he slammed the front door closed behind him, and each rolling sound tore down the youth's pride. Stiles made a small sound of protest even though his enemy had long since evacuated the battlefield. "I'll have you know that I shave."

Derek sent him a strange look. "No, you don't."

"Yeah, but _he_ doesn't know that!" Stiles snorted, straightening the pants on his hips with a perfected look of indignation. The cotton had travelled low, and with almost shaking fingers he tugged it up, carefully watching the man across from him to make sure the action was allowed. When no fingers stopped him, he nodded and pulled up the cotton enough to look comical. "I forgot he was here, honestly."

Derek rubbed a hand – _the_ hand – over the back of his neck, allowing an awkward chuckle to leave his lips as he did so. "Yeah, so did I," he admitted, shooting the teenager a killer smile. "Should we eat?"

Stiles answered by happily commandeering the plate dripping with syrup, already humming in satisfaction at the sight. He could hear movement behind him and smiled, knowing the man was copying his exact actions as they both sat down at the dining table; not bothering with opposite ends of the table and instead taking up the same space.

Digging into his – _holy testicle tuesday_ – delicious breakfast, the teenager kicked up his feet so they were splayed across the lap of his companion. Derek didn't do more than shift under the new weight, and sneak a hand under cotton so his palm was pressing against a slim and pale ankle before continuing to fork food into his mouth like his life depended on it. And usually, with the lupine members of the pack, his life did.

Snorting into his pancakes, Stiles shook his head when the man curiously perked up. "Don't worry about it," he murmured, scooping up some sugary liquid before practically drinking it from the plate. "You were kidding when you said we'd run out of maple syrup right?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Cupboard."

Stiles grinned, taking back his legs so he could rush over to grab the well used bottle of syrup he'd somewhat laid a claim too. When he returned, the feet went back on a warm lap, and the sugar was poured back over the pancakes. The youth sighed contently – this was the life, wasn't it?

Pancakes, enough sugar to make him bounce from the walls and Derek.

Admittedly he'd happily give up the first two if it meant he could keep the grumpy wolf, and the thought made him pause for a few seconds, forkful of sopping pancakes hovering before his mouth. Those types of thoughts weren't exactly _new_ ; he was always ranting in his mind about everything he'd do for – and too – the man beside him but somehow the certainty made him falter. There was no doubt echoing after the statement. Nothing but finality.

Stiles slowly looked down to his half eaten food, and then let his eyes creep over to the dark haired man beside him. Yeah. Yeah, he could give up things like this for him, no sweat. Derek tasted better than maple syrup anyway.

Having thought that forced his mind to acknowledge something else.

 _Derek Hale covered in maple syrup would be everything I love in one place. No, no wait, we need curly fries. Shit._

"Would it be unsanitary to eat curly fries from someone's pants?" Stiles mused out loud, trying to find a way around his latest predicament. "Or would it suit better to have said someone _eat_ the curly fries so you can still taste them if you kiss them thoroughly enough?"

Derek was still, lips around his fork, and eyes wide in confusion. "Do I even wanna know?" he mumbled around his mouthful. "And seriously think through that before you answer."

Stiles snorted. "Of course you wanna know; it's important. I was just thinking about how much I love me some maple syrup, but I also love you – so logically if I had you covered in maple syrup it would be everything I love in one place, right? No, not right. Because I also love curly fries. And they're not there," he pointed out; barely acknowledging that in his rant he had said a few words that had so far been unsaid between them. "Which means I need to incorporate them somehow doesn't it? So either shove him down your pants – cause you're shirtless by the way – or shove them down your throat so you taste like them? Now it's gonna be a hard choice, because you taste pretty nice right now, so too much curly would ruin it. I might have to go with shoving fries down your boxers."

Taking in a deep breath, he turned to send his companion a thoughtful look. "But that might leave crumbs, and _holy shit_ nobody likes crumbs, let alone down their pants. Damn, this is harder than I thought...:

"Stiles?"

The boy in question looked up hopefully. "You don't mind crumbs?"

Derek's lips were slack, revealing white teeth and a currently useless tongue. "You said – you said you love..." the man stammered slightly, usually commanding and confident voice catching on words.

"I said I love a lot of things?" Stiles shrugged, still apparently not catching on to what had been rambled. "But most important would be you, maple syrup and curly fries. Why? Do you wanna know the ranking or something because it's all pretty even. I can't list it out without starting some conflict between you all."

Derek shook his head. "Me. You said you loved me."

Stiles nodded happily. "Course I do dickwad. Think I put up with the brows of doom – trademark pending – for no good reason?" he questioned, voice slowing slightly as he realised what exactly was leaving his lips. "I said I love you. Out loud. And before you said it to me." His lips snapped shut before he could start an unintelligible ramble, and almost crumpled in on himself. _Fuck._

Derek, on the other hand, had almost straightened up. "You were waiting on me to say it?" he asked dumbly. "Why?"

"Too make sure I wasn't being a stupid idiot, that's why."

"You're always a stupid idiot."

"And you're really not helping," Stiles snapped back, turning to frown heavily at the dark haired man. The action froze though, when he met the dumb, a thousand watt smile lighting up hazel eyes until they almost seemed gold. "And why are you smiling like that? You look like an old lady in a cat store, what's going on with your face?"

And now they were hugging?

Okay, okay sure why not. That was better than an awkward; _sorry but I don't feel that way..._

"I love you too," Derek murmured into his hair, nuzzling further and rubbing his scent over the pale, mole dotted expanse of skin known as his neck. "So much. I'm sorry I waited to say it out loud."

And wow.

He'd been right.

That was so much better than maple syrup. Or curly fries. Or curly fries with maple syrup as a dipping sauce.

Stiles couldn't keep his grin in check, instead moving to borrow further into the warm chest before him and the arms wrapped around him. There was something different now, lingering in the air between them, and he didn't know if he would say it was because he knew he was loved, or if it was because now he knew he wasn't going to be abandoned. If he'd learnt anything in the past year with his pack, it would be that Derek didn't love easily, but when he did; it wasn't exactly a passing fancy.

And now, hugging the man with something akin to desperate comfort, Stiles realised that strong emotion had been focused on him. The unwavering loyalty was being applied to him. The flashing grins were for him. Those moments, where Derek would give him this look, all big eyes and a ghost of a smile, were only for him.

"How much do you love me?" Stiles whispered, tucking his nose into the hollow of the man's collar bone. "Call it curiosity, but I would love to hear it on a scale of one to ten."

Derek chuckled. "A solid ten. And I love you enough to go out and grab some curly fries to shove down my pants. Crumbs be damned," he announced, pulling back to rub the tip of his nose down the youths cheek; scenting him.

"Wow," Stiles breathed. "You really do love me."

"I really do."

* * *

Stiles rubbed a hand over his brow, begging the lunch he'd scoffed down to _stay_ down. "Okay, so let me get this straight," he started, both hands lifting to hover in the air. "The asshole had a cell phone?"

"Yeah, he did," Scott admitted with a nervous and jerky nod. "We found it in the cabin."

Stiles swallowed and held back a whimper. "And it's been ringing?" he squeaked out, looking up with a hopeful expression. All the teenager before him had to say was _no, it hadn't_ and everything would be fine. Two letters. One word. And then his world would shatter and crumple back into fear and lies.

"All day," Scott nodded slowly. "Until a text came through..."

Stiles looked up. That was new. "What did it say?"

Scott sighed, pushing an older styled flip top phone across the table. The only text message was displayed in bold black letters, and with every passing word, the fox felt his heart drop down to the soles of his feet.

 _We're coming._

* * *

 **This story is done!**

 **I'm so happy – this had been one of the best stories I've honestly ever written, and one of the most fun to write. I can't really say I hated writing this, not for a second. I hope you all loved it as much as I did, and thank you to all who have been going through this journey with me or are reading this in the future.**

 **Love you all,**

 **Taila xx**


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